Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang
by EOlivet
Summary: For the past year and a half, it had only been the three of them in the house. And the empty room across the corridor.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: The characters you recognize described herein are the property of Julian Fellowes and ITV. No copyright infringement is intended._

_Timeline: Post-Christmas Special. Way post-Christmas Special._

_A/N: I enjoyed my multi-chapter fic experience so much, thanks to this amazingly supportive fandom! So, I decided to try another one. I'm well aware this isn't the easiest subject, but I hope to address it in a sensitive manner._

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><p><span>Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang<span>

Matthew put his fork down, and looked across the array of family seated around the table. It had been so long since the entire family was at the big house. Indeed, these dinners had felt a bit incomplete with Sybil being in Ireland and Edith leaving to get married a few months prior.

Now their family was almost fully restored, with both Edith and Sybil back in the house once more. Edith had come for dinner with her husband, while Sybil had just arrived for a more long-term visit. She and her son, Finn (who was more than a year old now), had came down from Ireland for a few months when Cora had become concerned about the safety of her grandchild and daughter, thanks to escalating tensions in Dublin.

Matthew glanced at Mary, who was busy surveying the happy, reunited family herself. They shared a small smile, and he knew she echoed his sentiments.

"Mary and I would like to—" he began.

"Actually, I have something I'd very much like to share."

Surprisingly, the person who had interrupted him was Edith, who he could barely see from where he was seated.

Never being one to overstep his position within the Crawley family, especially as far as Mary's sisters were concerned – he'd bowed his head, preparing to cede control of the conversation to Edith. "Go on," he encouraged.

Unfortunately, Cora overruled him from across the table. "Now Edith, I do believe Matthew was speaking first." She was addressing her daughter as if Edith was a child, and Cora's barely contained smile seemed so peculiar. "Go on, Matthew…you were saying?"

He paused a moment, taking in the flashes of faces on all sides of the table – the curious, hopeful, anxious looks of the rest of the family. "Only that…we're so glad…to see everyone together again," he finished, rather sheepishly.

For an instant, Cora's face was marked with incredulity, but it vanished just as quickly. "Well said," she remarked, with a tighter smile than before. "And of course, we all quite agree."

"Now may I share my news, Mama?" Edith asked, anxiously – almost as soon as her mother had finished speaking.

With what appeared to be a conciliatory sigh, Cora turned to her daughter. "Yes, of course, darling."

Something about Edith's tone, however, had made Matthew turn to glance directly at her. Edith's cheeks seemed flushed, her eyes were sparkling and her smile appeared to concealing a grin that waited to explode upon her face. She then looked over at her husband before taking his hand in hers – the two now sporting matching grins.

Matthew swallowed the lump in his throat, bracing himself…

Edith glanced at her husband one more time before announcing (after the requisite moment of silence), "Well...we're to have a child!"

He now saw how the entire previous scene had unfolded rather like a bad play – the sunny, optimistic nature of his tone, the broad grin on his face, the glance over at Mary. It had seemed so silly that Cora would be so anxious for him to speak over Edith, but he hadn't been thinking…

All the family now began to speak at once – Cora's beaming words of congratulations, Sybil excitedly chatting with Edith about her symptoms and Robert adding the occasional remark, looking as proud as a prospective grandfather could possibly be. Only his mother's smile appeared the least bit faint, and cousin Violet appeared to now be looking directly at Mary with a mix of concern and determination.

When Matthew caught a glimpse of his wife, Juliet upon awakening in the tomb didn't even begin to describe her. She looked as if the words had been the dagger that had stabbed her already, as she sat, motionless, almost expressionless in her seat before plastering on one of what he knew was one of her forced bright smiles.

He'd felt the words with an almost equal sting, closing his eyes briefly before at least attempting to look positive. Both appeared now to be avoiding looking directly at each other.

For a while, it had been easy to forget, with Sybil and her young family back in Ireland – easy for him and Mary to simply blend in to the larger family that sat round the dinner table at the big house. It wasn't as if it was ever a topic of conversation – not at this table, nor at their smaller table at Crawley House. There, they were their own family of three – himself, Mary and his mother.

His mother had been remarkably sensitive to the idea of sharing the house with a married couple. She had even insisted on relocating to the room at the end of the upstairs corridor, where his old study had been. But he'd never gotten around to moving all the books into his new study, so her former room across the corridor had remained empty.

Indeed, it had been that way for the last year and a half.

"When will—" Mary started, as he heard her vainly attempt to keep her voice steady.

"Well, I dare say, we should go through! I'm sure our expectant mother would appreciate a rather more comfortable chair!" The Dowager Countess interjected, assuming an air of unquestionable authority.

"Yes, thank you, Granny," Edith replied, sounding almost giddy. Indeed, it seemed she hadn't stopped smiling since the moment she'd shared the news with her family.

What a joy it must be, Matthew thought briefly, forcing down whatever emotion had unexpectedly crept up on him as he snuck a glance at Mary. She appeared to be fighting to free herself from her chair, as if it she was breaking through invisible bonds constricting her every move.

Instinctively, he reached for her hand – but only brushed her fingertips, as she was now already moving towards the door. She did look back at him for a moment – her gaze faltering as she met his eyes, before she turned away and followed both their mothers and her sisters out of the room – her grandmother traveling very close behind.

When Robert broke out the celebratory cigars, Matthew obligingly took one – at the same time as he reached for the decanter of port and filled his own glass nearly to the brim.

* * *

><p>Of course, the evening had concluded early, exactly as cousin Violet had foretold.<p>

After the men had rejoined the women in the drawing room, Edith had soon announced she was rather tired, and her husband – with all the jumpy, protective anxiety of a prospective Papa – had remarked that they'd better get to bed. They would stay at the big house overnight, returning to their own home in the morning – Cora's orders upon hearing of her daughter's condition.

Mary had been quiet…almost unnervingly so, as if the announcement had practically robbed her of speech. She had sat placidly and listened to Edith go on about where they were to put the nursery - how they'd only just moved into the house a few months ago and now they'd have to clear out a room to make space for the baby.

He'd forced himself not to listen…only to concentrate on Mary, on making sure she was alright, that she was handling this…as well as she could, given the circumstances. Matthew knew on his wife and her sister had had their differences, and remembered how bitterly Edith had seemed to resent Mary when he'd first met them all those years ago.

How had the tables turned now, he wondered, gloomily.

Finally, mercifully, they had been able to extricate themselves from the room, from the house, from the evening. Their own family of three had piled into the car – with Mary sat in between himself and his mother.

No sooner had Pratte started up the car than Mary spoke: "Well…" she began, "I suppose they wasted no time." Among their smaller family, she made no attempt to hide the tinge of bitterness in her tone.

"I feel as though we just attended their wedding," his mother remarked, clearly trying to stay neutral on the subject.

"Quite right," Mary quipped, with a sigh. "Honestly, Edith was terrible to Sybil when we were children. How she'll manage as a mother, I really have no idea."

Clearing her throat, his mother put in, "Actually, your sister may surprise you. Even the least nurturing of women develops some sort of maternal instinct when she has a child. I'm afraid the survival of the species rather demands it…"

"Then God help the species," Mary muttered in response.

Matthew decided to shift the topic to one she might not find so unpleasant. "It was quite nice to see Sybil again, wasn't it?"

Instantly, Mary's eyes softened, flashing with affection for her youngest sister. "She looked so thin though, the darling – I do hope that husband of hers is putting food on their table in addition to trying to change the world one byline at a time."

Neither Matthew nor his mother appeared to have a suitable reply to that. "But that little Finn is a dear, isn't he?" his mother remarked, idly.

Matthew could feel Mary's body stiffening beside him. Of course, his mother – in her inimitable way – had made matters infinitely worse. He knew Edith and Sybil were both fair game in terms of conversation topics. They had distinct roles in Mary's life where she could easily place them and thus restore order to her world.

But Sybil's child was a different matter altogether.

"Such a dear," Mary finally responded, with a cheeriness that sounded almost shrill to his ears.

Thankfully, the car was now approaching the house, which would draw this awkward conversation to a close. He wasn't sure if he'd ever been so happy to get out of a car in his life, and attempt to put those few minutes – indeed, this entire evening behind him as quickly as possible.

His mother – perhaps sensing her presence wouldn't exactly be welcome after that car ride – decided to stay downstairs, with the rather transparent excuse of catching up on some of her correspondence. Neither he nor Mary protested – all of them were clearly worn out from the dinner in some manner or another.

He and his wife ascended the stairs in silence, and as their room came into view, his eyes traveled almost against his will to the empty room his mother had once occupied. The door was closed.

When he glanced back at Mary, she was already heading for the door to their room. It was ajar and the light was on. Anna…well, Bates (it was confusing having two of them again, but at least there was only one per household) was there, waiting.

Matthew heard the housemaid-turned-ladies-maid brightly asking his wife, "How was your evening," and quickly headed into his own dressing room before he could hear Mary's reply. He'd had enough insincerity for one night.

As Moseley helped him get ready, Matthew let out a breath he felt as if he'd been holding ever since he'd heard the news at dinner. His shoulders shook slightly, feeling a bit like he'd been punched in the face. All he could see were the beaming countenances of Edith and her husband. His eyes closed and for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine himself and Mary in the same situation…

But it only lasted a moment before reality intruded once more: Edith and her husband were to become parents. Sybil and Tom Branson were already parents. He and Mary…were not. There was nothing to be done about it…for now, anyway.

In spite of himself, he played over the last year and a half of his marriage to Mary. They hadn't exactly held back from one another in the early months (his collar now feeling slightly hot at the memory). They'd honeymooned on the continent – gone to France. It had been very important to her to see the places he'd hated most – just as it had been equally important to him to create new memories of those places with her at night. Then they'd gone to Paris and barely left the hotel, he remembered with a smile…

Upon returning, he'd resumed his job and Mary had thrown herself into helping the erstwhile Mrs. Bates – traveling with her new ladies maid to York on a regular basis. Some nights, he and Mary had both been so exhausted…but he hadn't thought much of it at the time, and he'd thought they'd _had_ time…

Then, he chastised himself for thinking in such a way. He had no reason whatsoever to be upset. Considering only a few short years ago, the prospect of happiness with any woman – let alone his beloved Mary – was a near impossibility. Indeed, he should be quite grateful for what he had.

Moseley finished with him, and Matthew found himself almost hesitating at the door. Given Mary's disposition in the car, he wondered at her mood now. He remembered days she'd return from York when it hadn't gone well, anxious to work out her frustration in a most…enjoyable way for both of them. His cheeks flushed slightly at the thought, before quickly dismissing it. Somehow, he doubted her feelings on this particular topic would lend themselves to such…distractions.

She was already in bed when he opened the door, and he offered her a small smile, which she did at least return.

"Granny wants me to come to her house for luncheon tomorrow," she offered, flatly - as he was in the process of removing his dressing gown.

"Well, that's…" He trailed off, having absolutely no idea how to finish the sentence. How exactly he was meant to reply to such a non sequitur. As he got into bed, he saw her shift slightly away from him – turning towards the other side of the room.

The space between them had never seemed wider than it did in that moment. He turned towards her, but glimpsed only her back. She seemed hunched into herself, as if she was trying to curl up and disappear.

"Mary…" he began, swallowing heavily. "It's alright, you know."

"To go to Granny's for luncheon? Of course it's alright. I only told you so you can inform your mother in the morning that I won't be joining her—"

"No…" Every muscle in her back seemed to tense imperceptibly at the word, and his heart constricted painfully at the sight. "It's alright…" he repeated, hesitantly, "…not to be happy."

She was silent for a moment before suddenly turning towards him, her expression seeming almost affronted. "Why ever would I not be happy? I certainly don't begrudge my sister a child, Matthew – don't be silly."

He refrained from bringing up the fact that he'd never specifically mentioned Edith's baby – it felt too much like a clever lawyer trick (and indeed, that seemed exactly how she might respond to having it pointed out).

What he really wanted to offer her was his support. He wanted to speak with her honestly – wishing desperately he could admit how difficult _he_ was finding it to be happy for Edith and her husband. How he felt that should be his and Mary's happiness.

But to mention such things would surely ignite his wife's stubborn nature – he knew she would dismiss them, not because she didn't care but because she cared too much. So much that there was no way she could talk about it, especially not now.

"I hope you know…" he murmured, trying to suppress the urge to reach out and touch her, "…I'm so happy with you." Then he ventured a bit too far: "I don't need anything else."

She then turned away from him again, her back visibly tensing, seeming to make herself even smaller. "Please don't, Matthew – not now. It's been a long night and I'm…I'm tired."

He bowed his head, submitting to her words though she couldn't see him. "Of course." The ache in his chest was almost painful, as he allowed himself to place a hand lightly on her back – just for a moment. "Well...goodnight, darling."

Though she didn't tense further, she also didn't turn at his touch. "Goodnight," she replied, her voice sounding so emotionless.

His hand dropped from her back, though he remained facing her – his fingers idly tracing over the bedclothes. The action seemed somehow soothing …

"Oh…Matthew?"

Opening his eyes, he stared at her back. She still had not moved.

Her affect was flat with sleepiness, tinged with a hint of annoyance as she spoke: "Those extra books need to be moved out of the sitting room and into your new study. Your mother almost tripped over them yesterday."

Her words produced a physical ache deep in his chest. "Please, Mary…" he warned, desperately trying to keep his voice even. "I'm tired…" he finished in a whisper.

He then turned towards the door – his back now facing hers – trying not to think of all that belonged in that empty room.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I am so incredibly honored and flattered by the response to this fic – thank you so much to everyone who was kind enough to leave a review!_

_Many thanks to OrangeShipper for her help in clarifying several key details, and to my sister for the read-through!_

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><p>Mary had never successfully convinced herself that she was expecting a baby. Then again, she had never ever attempted to fool herself with such a ruse either.<p>

She'd heard the stories, of course – mainly from Sybil when her sister had returned from nursing school. There were women who were so desperate for a child that their bodies had tricked them into believing such a falsehood. They stopped acting as normal women's bodies do, halting certain necessary functions. These women had put on weight and exhibited many of the same symptoms as expectant mothers.

This morning, Mary herself had seemed to exhibit nearly all those well-known symptoms. She was moody and irritable and the thought of breakfast almost made her ill.

There was no reason she_ couldn't_ be, even though her heart told her that she wasn't…

For a moment, she allowed her mind to wander back to …yesterday morning, she realized, blushing at the memory. It had been unseasonably cold when she and Matthew had awakened, so they'd huddled together under the bedclothes…his hand on her back, her cheek pressed to his…then their lips had found each other…and his hand had moved lower…and lower, and…

Sighing, she let the memory fade before her.

No, Mary was expecting nothing…other than a good talking-to from her grandmother. It was embarrassing to consider how obvious she herself must've been if Granny had cornered her practically the minute they'd left the men in the dining room and entreated her to come to luncheon.

For Mary knew that her own faults and failings could no longer blend quietly into the background of their family. Once again, she had a secret rarely spoken of, and once again, that secret had now been brought to light - seemingly against her will.

But it had been so easy to forget. Sybil's pregnancy had been so long ago – and Finn was born not four months after Mary and Matthew had been married. And for all the time she and Matthew had stolen together over the years – they'd so rarely spent time as a _proper _couple. It had simply been…nice just to be with him. She figured in time, everything would follow as it should.

Yet…of course it had not.

Mary refused to even glance across the corridor as she left her room and headed downstairs. Thankfully, Isobel had already left for the hospital. Alone in a small house that had never felt emptier, Mary entered the sitting room – and her eyes lit upon the books in the corner.

She closed her eyes, feeling a lump rise in her throat. Why had she mentioned the books to Matthew last night? He was being so understanding, so caring - as he always was when she didn't deserve it, and she'd just wanted him to admit the truth. That it was _her_ responsibility, and she'd failed. She had no right to any unhappiness about the matter, and she certainly had no right to be seeking comfort when she ought to be shouldering blame.

Perhaps it was good she was paying her grandmother a visit shortly. Granny was the one person who certainly wouldn't offer her any undeserved sympathy.

Indeed, the last thing Mary needed (or wanted) was sympathy.

* * *

><p>"It's so nice of you to come see me, my dear," her grandmother greeted her, as if Mary had simply stopped by, unannounced. She clasped her granddaughter's hand warmly before the two women took a seat at the table. "I feel as though I've barely seen <em>you<em> lately."

Mary could only nod politely – and gamely attempt to guess in what direction Granny was taking the conversation. "Well, I suppose it's been rather busy…with Sybil having returned, and…" she hesitated, "…Edith…"

"Oh yes, it is quite wonderful to have Sybil home again," her grandmother enthused (well, as enthused as Granny ever was), as she poured herself, and then her granddaughter a cup of tea. "And…such a joy to meet little Thomas at last."

"You know he's called Finn, Granny."

Her grandmother looked slightly affronted. "The telegram announcing his birth said Thomas _Finnegan_," she declared, placing a disgusted emphasis on the last word as if she could barely bring herself to say it. "I'll not be held responsible if your sister or…her husband have decided to call the child by something other than his Christian name."

Mary found herself wishing Tom Branson had been able to make the trip from Ireland – if only so she could've witnessed her grandmother butting heads with the former chauffeur over how her great grandchild should be called.

Granny took a sip of her own tea before replacing the cup. "And how have _you _been, my dear?" Mary had known her grandmother would only last a brief while before addressing the real purpose of her visit.

"Quite well," Mary replied, and up until the previous day, it certainly hadn't been a lie.

"Things have…settled down now that Bates is back up at the house?"

Mary could've sensed this topic was coming – she just hadn't expected it so soon. She knew her grandmother did not exactly approve of her traipsing off to York every day to support Anna's fight to get Bates' conviction overturned.

She put her own cup down, trying not to notice the particularly loud clink of china against the saucer. "They have indeed. I think we're all very glad this ordeal is finally behind us."

"And…what did Matthew say about all this?" Granny wondered, with an innocent quirk of her eyebrow.

Her grandmother's question hit her harder than expected, and Mary blinked rapidly. "He was…very supportive of our efforts," she answered, quietly.

She thought of all the nights Matthew had spent going over Murray's progress on the appeal – always keeping her and Anna as part of the process. Then there were those nights they'd sent Anna home, and Matthew had distracted Mary from the frustrations of the case in a much more intimate way…

"Is that so?" Granny's remark snapped Mary out of her reverie. "Well I dare say, not all husbands would be particularly keen about their wives visiting a prison on a regular basis."

"It wasn't always the prison, Granny," Mary reminded her.

"Indeed, that is exactly the kind of thing that might put a strain on a marriage," her grandmother commented, as if she hadn't even heard Mary's previous statement. She took another sip of tea and then looked very seriously at her granddaughter. "Your marriage, my dear… It's been a…happy one, has it not?"

Obviously, her grandmother's seemingly innocent statement could've been implying any number of things, even as Mary tried in vain to prevent a blush from rising in her cheeks. "Of course we're happy." The words tumbled out in a rush – as she hoped to move away from the subject as quickly as possible.

"Because we all thought it so wonderful that it seemed to be a love match between you, but…well you never know how these things will turn out…"

"I assure you, your assumption was…quite correct," Mary practically murmured into her teacup – wondering exactly how she came to be conversing about such a topic with her grandmother over luncheon.

Granny gave her a look, as she stirred her tea thoughtfully. "You know your mother's Puritanical American heritage means she's uncomfortable discussing such matters, but she'd expressed a similar concern."

Mary didn't know what was worse – having this conversation with her grandmother or the fact that her grandmother and her mother had apparently speculated amongst themselves about the private workings of Mary's marriage (possibly over a luncheon similar to this).

"So…" Granny continued, nonplussed. "What a pity then that Matthew never quite recovered from his injury."

"What?" Mary blurted out, momentarily forgetting to whom she was speaking.

Luckily, her grandmother seemed willing to overlook her sudden burst of rudeness. "Well, my dear - if your marriage is as…happy as you claim, then it would seem to be the only logical explanation," she pointed out.

Now Mary could feel her face growing warmer, and embarrassment had little to do with it. "You're not saying that Matthew…" she trailed off, barely being able to articulate something so preposterous. "But you heard Dr. Clarkson before – he made a complete recovery!"

Her grandmother raised her eyebrows just as she raised her cup to her lips. "Yes, well I think we all know the value of Dr. Clarkson's opinion, given that he also said Matthew would never walk again."

"No…" Mary insisted. "Matthew is not the one to blame for this!" Her voice had risen beyond the constraints of a civilized luncheon

Taking a breath, she attempted to regain her composure – glancing at the table as if she'd suddenly lost the will to argue.

Her grandmother was silent for a moment, before offering a relatively calm response in return: "Ah. I take it you believe the reason lies…elsewhere?"

Mary could only nod.

"And what exactly do you mean to do about that?" Granny inquired.

"There's nothing I _can_ do …" Mary's eyes shut momentarily, as if she could lock away her emotions behind them. "Whatever the reason, I just…_can't_."

"So you're just going to give up, dear – is that it?"

Mary's eyes widened at how final her grandmother's words sounded. "Of course I don't _want_ to – but…what choice do I have? There's nothing to be done."

"Nothing to be done?" her grandmother practically chortled. "Mary, do you imagine yourself unique in this matter? Women have been dealing with this problem for centuries. Though thankfully some of the remedies have rather improved since the days of our ancestors…"

As if on cue, her grandmother reached for what Mary now recognized to be a second, smaller teapot that had been obscured behind the tiered platter of sandwiches in front of them. "More tea?"

Though Mary noticed a distinctive smell emanating from the smaller teapot, she nonetheless extended her cup as her grandmother poured a slightly darker looking tea into it.

Mary stared at the teacup, at the steam rising from it like a witches' brew before meeting her grandmother's eyes with a bewildered stare.

Granny gave her a look, answering her silent question "Patience, my dear. All in good time. Now…do you still have that necklace your mother gave you several years ago?"

* * *

><p>Until that day, Mary could count the number of times on one hand when she felt her grandmother had been wrong. Now after all those years, she feared she might need a second hand.<p>

Indeed, she could scarcely believe that her grandmother – the venerable Violet Crawley, the Right Honorable Dowager Countess of Grantham – had even _suggested_ such a ridiculous, common sounding "remedy" as special tea.

The necklace was a different story – both she and her grandmother knew the pearls had no medicinal properties, but Mary viewed the necklace in a similar manner as sending her beloved Matthew off to war with nothing but her small, stuffed dog for "protection." Nobody had to tell Mary the perceived value of a talisman, and given the apparent symbolic value of a pearl…well, it couldn't possibly hurt.

Besides, desperate times clearly called for desperate measures.

Still, she intended to keep to herself whatever humiliation she was forced to endure. She wouldn't be able to bear it if Matthew or his mother knew what she was doing…the depths to which she had sunk to produce her desired result.

She'd managed to sneak the box of tea she'd toted home with her into the kitchen while Mrs. Bird was busy with the tarts for this afternoon's tea. One of the kitchen cats had wound its way around Mary's ankles, and, embarrassed, she'd shooed it away.

Thankfully, she'd run into Moseley almost immediately afterwards – informing him as briskly as she could about the special box in the larder, and asking to have a small pot of said tea brewed for the afternoon.

Then she'd gone upstairs to retrieve her pearl pendant. When she'd come back down to the sitting room, Matthew was there – reading the newspaper.

Her heart ached at the sight of him, her hand traveling to her necklace as if to remind her why she was doing this. As she stared, her resolve to keep her grandmother's remedies a secret melted away. She wanted to tell Matthew, wanted to apologize for last night, wanted to let him know she didn't give a fig if his books remained in the sitting room forever…

"Hello." She announced her presence, warmly but cautiously, as she crossed into the room. "I didn't hear you come in."

He looked up at her, emotions of all sorts now flickering across his face as he lowered his newspaper. Then he smiled at her, and she couldn't help but smile back. "I just got in now," he remarked. "How was your luncheon?"

"Actually, I…wanted to talk with you about that…" She seated herself on the settee and looked at him, expectantly – her eyes flitting to the space beside her and then back to his face.

As if he'd actually understood her code, he put down his newspaper and came over to join her on the settee, looking concernedly at her as he spoke. "Darling, what is it…"

She turned towards him, meeting his eyes, and taking a deep breath. "You see, when I—"

"Hello, my dears – oh, Matthew! I'd not expected you home so soon."

Instantly, Mary rose - her hands reflexively traveling to her skirts, smoothing them down as she stood. "Hello, Isobel. Matthew's just arrived. Shall I have Moseley bring us some tea?" Her tone was clipped and efficient once more – not wanting to betray the slightest bit of emotion in front of Matthew's mother.

Isobel merely gave her a bright smile. "Yes, thank you – I think that sounds lovely."

Matthew opened his mouth as if to say something, but Mary's glance pleaded with him to let the subject alone. The truce between them seemed so tenuous, and she didn't want to have to break it by brushing off whatever he was going to say as if it was nothing.

In an attempt to relieve the tension somewhat, she stood and rang for Moseley, who was dispatched to bring the tea. He eventually returned - the process apparently taking a bit more time than usual.

"I'm so sorry, Lady Mary," he apologized, setting down the tray on the table in the sitting room. "I was…rather detained by the kitchen cats – they wouldn't let me alone until Mrs. Bird chased them away."

Mary dipped her head in an effort to hide her knowing blush. "That's perfectly alright, Moseley – these things happen," she assured him, with what she hoped was an understanding smile as he removed both teapots from the tray.

Isobel's brow furrowed, indicating the extra teapot. "Is there some reason we need two?"

Holding the smile in place, Mary turned to her mother-in-law – indicating the smaller teapot. "Granny served this at luncheon today, and absolutely insisted I take some back with me." Carefully, she poured herself a cup from the second pot.

Now even Matthew appeared slightly confused. "What is…" He seemed to sniff the air lightly. "Is that the tea?"

"Yes, it is rather distinctive." Mary lifted the cup to her nose, as if to demonstrate – feeling like a fool as she dutifully inhaled the scent, the steam seeming to condense uncomfortably on her skin. Then she took a sip. It was better knowing what to expect, she decided. Still, it wasn't _that_ much better than the first time she'd tried it that afternoon.

As she replaced her cup, she noticed Isobel giving her a curious look. "I think it's mint, is it not?" Isobel remarked, innocently.

Mary hesitated for a moment. "It's a…form of mint, I believe."

"Indeed." Isobel reached for a tart from the platter and took a thoughtful bite. "I was unaware cousin Violet was a Renaissance enthusiast." She seemed to be addressing the remark to Mary's teacup rather than Mary herself.

"Granny is well-versed on a variety of subjects," Mary replied, with another whiff and then sip of her tea.

"And do you…share her enthusiasm?" Isobel wondered, her eyes now traveling from the cup to her daughter-in-law.

With a defiant raise of her eyebrows, Mary met Isobel's interrogatory stare. "I don't know." She glanced briefly at the teacup she cradled in her hand, with an innocent smile. "But considering she's been the only one willing to engage me in a discussion, I see little harm in it."

"Do you?" Isobel replied, her eyes now appearing to be fixed on Mary, who was giving the contents of her cup a delicate sniff before imbibing of the tea once again. "I take it you believe _this_…to have merit, then?"

If Mary had been reluctant to embrace her grandmother's methods, she now fully supported them. Keeping an eye trained on Isobel, she deliberately reached for the smaller teapot, and filled her cup again.

"I suppose time will tell," Mary answered, with a put-on pleasantness. Nobody was going to tell her how to manage her own affairs – least of all her mother-in-law.

Isobel's only reply was to sir her own tea so vigorously that the spoon rattled against her teacup.

Mary then noticed Matthew looking back and forth between her and his mother, seeming more and more perplexed as the conversation progressed.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Many thanks for all your wonderful reviews and feedback!_

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><p>Matthew felt as if he had walked in on a private conversation between his wife and his mother as he sat, trying to drink his tea as unobtrusively as possible. He was torn between hoping both of them would continue to ignore him (so he wouldn't be forced to take sides) and wanting to simply separate them before this escalated into what could only be described as a genteel shouting match.<p>

Thankfully, they'd both appeared to stop speaking – both drinking their tea in silence now. Indeed, the entire room had rather seemed to be engulfed by the quiet, and not in a pleasant way.

"Well," Mary finally said, replacing her cup after her…third or fourth cup of that odd smelling tea. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to freshen up a bit. It's…been quite a long day." The last remark seemed to be directed almost pointedly at her mother-in-law.

His mother appeared to give the most cursory nod. "That's a lovely necklace," she commented.

He saw Mary's hand reflexively brushing over the pendant. "Isn't it?" she replied, far more coolly than a compliment about her jewelry deserved. But considering Mary and his mother had been sniping at each other throughout, it didn't seem that unusual at this point.

Placing her napkin on the table, Mary offered Matthew what looked to be a serene smile with a hint of apology, before she rose from her chair, leaving him to stand and watch as she left the room – her hand still playing over her necklace as she walked.

His mother was now glaring at the presumably empty teapot by his wife's recently vacated seat. He shook his head as he sat back in his chair once more. "Honestly, Mother – I know you don't like cousin Violet's meddling, but it's only tea," Matthew gently admonished her.

She'd turned towards him in an instant. "Is that all you think this is, Matthew? Do you really think I'd be so upset if it was _only _tea?"

Her use of the word "only "gave Matthew pause. "…What do you mean?" he asked, uncertain as to whether or not he wanted the answer. Still, he had a feeling she was gong to tell him, whether he wished to know or not.

Now his mother was mumbling to herself – something about "Well, I suppose we should be thankful it's not rabbit's blood and sheep's urine," before clearing her throat slightly. "It's catnip tea, which first became popular during the 17th Century. Women were instructed to inhale its fumes as a way to…" He could see her brow wrinkling slightly, but she pushed on anyway. "To cure their barrenness."

At this, Matthew nearly knocked over his own teacup. "Cure their…" he trailed off, stammering, unsure as to where to begin. "But, but Mary isn't…" He couldn't even bring himself to speak of it – it was quite simply unthinkable.

"It's ludicrous, of course. There's no medical basis behind any of it," his mother informed him, with what seemed to be a kind of pride in this particular knowledge. "Of course, cousin Violet _would_ recommend something like this – she was probably around herself during the time these so-called elixirs gained popularity."

Yet Matthew couldn't even bring himself to crack a smile at the joke. The fact that Mary had assumed the responsibility for their situation; how could she possibly?

"But…why? It's not her _fault_,'" he remarked, his voice sounding very small indeed.

His mother gave him a look that seemed to radiate disbelief. "Really, Matthew – you mustn't be so naïve. History has always seen this as a woman's problem. I know it's grossly unfair, but there you have it."

"How- how could she think... _She_ wasn't the one who came back from the war a—" He broke off, still unable to speak of his previous condition in front of his own mother. "…barely able to function," he finished. "Clearly, if there's anyone to blame here…" Closing his eyes momentarily, he swallowed – remembering the vow he'd made to another woman about not tying her down to a childless existence.

"My dear, that was years ago!" his mother tried to reassure him, patting his hand lightly in what appeared to be a calming manner. "Surely, you don't believe there were any…lasting effects from your injury?"

Her words had seemed to transport him back to that night in the library when he'd first stood again. He remembered being rooted to his chair with trembling legs, as the doctor had explained his misdiagnosis in a tone that suggested the man was terribly sorry he'd given Matthew the wrong hat, not made a mistake that might've impacted the rest of his life…

"I want to see him," Matthew said, suddenly – looking at his mother with fresh determination. "Clarkson. I want to see him tomorrow."

For a moment, his mother appeared to open her mouth as if to say something, but then decided it was best kept to herself.

"You'll arrange it?" he asked her, trying to keep the hint of accusation out of his voice. After all, it was not his mother's fault she worked with this barely competent man.

She nodded. "Of course. But I don't think it's—"

"Thank you." Nodding briefly, he rose from the table himself. He turned round, running a hand over his face – trying to suppress all he was feeling, if only so he could get through dinner. Mary must not be made aware of his shame or his self-doubt. He had to go on as if everything was normal, even if he suspected now that it wasn't.

All he knew was he had to do something. He had to know if Clarkson had made yet another mistake, and if the chance of he and Mary having a family had slipped through Matthew's fingers the moment he'd fallen in that field in France. If he'd shackled his wife to an existence he said he wouldn't wish on any woman – let alone the one he loved most in the world.

As he was leaving the room, he stopped abruptly. "Mother?" He turned to face her once more. "You'll say _nothing_ of this to Mary." It was not a question. Matthew knew how eagerly his mother shared her opinions, and how she might find feel compelled to bring up Mary's questionable methods of self-treatment over dinner.

But he also knew his mother well enough to know she'd respect his wishes, as she replied, "If that is what you wish, my dear."

Indeed, she kept true to her word. Dinner was a quiet affair. For a while, it seemed barely any of them spoke, for every topic appeared to be tacitly off-limits.

"How is the hospital?" Mary had asked his mother with what appeared to be a genuine look of interest, as their plates had been served.

"…Fine, thank you," his mother had answered quickly, offering no further comment. He nodded at her as subtly as he could, for thankfully realizing he did not exactly want to hear about the hospital right now.

Mary also seemed to get the hint, and simply smiled in acknowledgment as she sipped her water.

After several more minutes, he turned to his wife. "And how is cousin Violet?" he wondered.

"She's quite well," Mary replied, smoothly. "So pleased that…Sybil is home again." But now, even the mention of her sister seemed to cast a gloom over the table.

"Ah," Matthew murmured, dropping the subject as quickly as he could when he saw his wife's face fall.

A few minutes after that, his mother ventured, "I ran into Mr. Moseley senior in the village on my way home this afternoon."

"Oh, really—" he started, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

"How splendid!" Mary marveled, almost simultaneously.

Thus, a conversation that should have only taken two minutes was stretched into ten – as the three of them eagerly discussed what seemed to be the only appropriately neutral conversation topic of the entire evening.

As he saw Mary going on about what kind of roses Mr. Moseley senior might be cultivating for this year's flower show, all at once Matthew had a sudden, horrible vision of their own empty future. Where prattling on about other people would be all either of them would be able to talk about. A false and feeble attempt to fill the hole in their own lives…

But Mary didn't deserve that empty future, he thought desperately. As he saw her hand traveling to her throat, glancing over her necklace as she spoke, he was reminded of his wife's gentle touch. How she could be so loving, so warm. What a wonderful mother she could be…and she _should_ be.

He figured the necklace was another one of cousin Violet's arcane "remedies," if only because of the way his wife kept almost caressing it and smiling. His heart ached for her, and suddenly he'd lost his appetite.

After the last of the plates had been cleared, Mary had excused herself from the table almost immediately, claiming to be tired. It was a lie all three of them had cultivated over the past year and a half in order to maintain some sense of propriety while living in such close quarters. Mary would go upstairs first, and he would wait a reasonable length of time before joining her.

His mother would always bid them goodnight, and then stay downstairs. Never once had she given any outward indication that she knew they were doing anything other than going to sleep.

However…tonight he'd wished Mary had _actually_ been tired. His heart had felt heavy as he ascended the stairs, heavier as Moseley had helped him get changed and it positively sank when Matthew had opened the door to their room to see his wife standing beside the bed…waiting for him with the most heartrending smile.

Her hands settled upon his waist, and he felt himself simply melting into her touch. "Oh, Matthew…" she sighed, gazing at him – and he was lost in her eyes before they fluttered shut, and her lips met his.

As he slowly drew back, he knew there was no way he could deny her – not when her eyes now sparkled with promise and that unmistakable glow of resolve, or when her touch was so full of purpose, as her fingers loosened the tie of his dressing gown. She'd forgone her own, and he could see her nightdress slipping the slightest bit off her shoulder.

His eyes remained on that sliver of skin - thinking if he didn't look at her, it wasn't really a lie. As his dressing gown was pushed to the floor, he gently pulled away the fabric from her shoulder, his mouth moving to where her nightdress had covered her. She was murmuring something that sounded like "I'm so sorry about the books," and her hands found his back, as he laved his own apology across her skin.

"Oh, my darling…" he whispered. His hands roved over her body, as if spelling out the words that ran on an endless loop through his head.

…_I'm so sorry I can't give you what you truly want._

Then he surrendered to her, unwilling to dispel her fantasy that their lovemaking might be anything more than fruitless, futile pleasure.

* * *

><p>Matthew closed the door to the small office behind him, keeping his head down – wondering if he could locate his mother without being seen by anyone. Luckily, the hospital had appeared to return to its normal, pre-war lassitude, with only a few local villagers milling about, seeking treatment for various and sundry minor ailments.<p>

He spotted his mother taking inventory in what appeared to be some sort of supply room, and quickly headed towards her before anyone else could see him.

"Matthew!" she exclaimed, happily – seeming to momentarily forget the purpose of his visit. His embarrassed glare must've reminded her, for her smile then straightened into a more serious expression. "I knew there was nothing wrong – you see, you're fine."

In spite of himself, he let out an exasperated sigh. "No, I'm not _fine_, Mother," was his irritated rebuttal. Though it was true - Dr. Clarkson had in fact given him a clean bill of health, which had unnerved Matthew even more.

Looking over his disconcerted expression, his mother remarked, "Yes, I can see that." After a moment, she added, "I take it you mentioned the…reason for your visit to Dr. Clarkson?"

His cheeks reddened, as he lowered his head even further, now pacing around the tiny room so he was almost walking in aimless circles.

She took his silence as he'd intended, and asked the next logical question: "So, did he have any…suggestions?"

Matthew's head dipped even further – having no desire to share Clarkson's prescribed "treatment" plan. It hadn't exactly been catnip tea. Matthew also hadn't wanted to share with his mother how the man had asked after Lady Mary's health – in a way that made it clear exactly who he held responsible for their predicament.

"As a matter of fact, he did," Matthew finally answered – deliberately refusing to elaborate.

He was not about to mention that years of medical training had led the doctor to conclude that _increased frequency of marital relations_ would be the key to producing a child. Matthew had obviously omitted _those_ details when speaking to Clarkson – not wanting to open up his marriage to any more scrutiny than was absolutely necessary.

Still, the more Matthew walked around the room, the more agitated he became. That _couldn't_ be all there was to it, not after all this time...

"But I'd…like another opinion," he blurted out. Indeed, it seemed quite likely that the good doctor had once again gotten his diagnosis wrong.

His mother looked almost confused. "I'm afraid Dr. Clarkson is the best doctor around here for miles, Matthew. We're not exactly in the middle of a city."

Brightening with new inspiration at her words, he proclaimed, "Then I shall just have to go to another city."

"Well, I'm sure Lord Grantham may know some physicians in London—"

"Mother!" he interrupted, hastily – wanting to put an end to that idea as soon as possible. "I can't…_tell_ him…" Confiding to his father-in-law that he himself needed to see a doctor, because of his inability to sire an heir _with the man's own daughter_ was not exactly a conversation Matthew ever wanted to have. "But there has to be someone else—"

Suddenly, as he looked at his mother, the answer seemed so obvious. "Perhaps…one of Father's former colleagues…" he began, hesitantly – still slightly timid about mentioning his father even after all these years.

"…Oh?" was his mother's only response – her mouth remaining slightly open as if she'd not yet completed her thought.

"Do you think perhaps…some of them might be still practicing?" he wondered, feeling very much like a small boy as he did so.

His mother gave a barely perceptible shrug. "Quite possibly."

Matthew paused a moment before tentatively continuing. "Would you…write to any of them? I just…want to see someone whose opinion I trust."

For a moment, his mother blinked, before she offered a placid smile. "Of course, dear. I'll be happy to," she said in a tone that sounded almost overcome by memory.

Obviously, Reginald Crawley was the best doctor either of them ever knew. But in Matthew's father's absence…one of his colleagues would simply have to suffice.

Matthew was all at once filled with a sudden empty sadness. His own father still lived in his memory. It was a privilege enjoyed by parents he mused – to be kept alive through remembrance from their children.

His heart tightened further when he then thought of Mary. How much she deserved to be loved and remembered by her children and grandchildren and…generations to come.

Thinking of his wife made him suddenly anxious. "And…please – not a word of this to Mary," he added.

Sighing, his mother assented to his directive with a nod. "As you wish, Matthew."

He gave her a kiss on the cheek and practically whispered his thanks. Then he opened the door to see himself out.

It would be fittingly ironic, he thought – to have one of his father's associates explain why he couldn't give his wife a child…why he himself might never be a father. But only once he knew for sure would he tell Mary. Only then would he dare to destroy the happiness he so desperately wanted for her…and for them.

In the meantime…he would continue on, trying to give Mary hope that her self-treatment could be successful. He really had no confidence in Clarkson's opinion, but the man's proposed solution to their problem wasn't exactly an unpleasant thought. It was how he and Mary were spending most of their nights anyway…

After all, he supposed there was always a chance. Until Matthew was absolutely certain about what his future would (or wouldn't) hold, he simply couldn't bear to give up their dream entirely.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I am so grateful and appreciative of every single review, considering I am well aware this isn't the easiest subject matter!_

_Apologies to "Hilde" and one of its stars for the…er…homage._

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><p>When she heard the door open, Mary clenched her fists under the bedclothes and bit down on her lip. Her eyes were closed tightly, like a child who thought that by shutting the world out, she might also somehow disappear into it.<p>

She tried to slow her breathing, as if she was asleep – though her ears seemed attuned to each little break in the silence – footfalls across the carpet…the rustle of the bedclothes… the gentle creak of the bed as it became accustomed to two bodies once more.

Her heart was pounding in her ears and she felt the blood rushing to her head with each drawn out, yet labored breath.

_Please, please believe me to be sleeping_. If she believed in praying anymore, it would've been a silent prayer.

Matthew's hand was on her back, and she practically jumped – trying to swallow the lump in her throat that prevented her voice from working. If she didn't say it, then it wasn't true… then there was still a chance…

"Mary?" he asked, softly. "…Darling?" Kissing her neck, his hand glided softly over her back, and she had to stop herself from cringing.

A detached part of her consciousness protested that he really had no idea, and it certainly wasn't his fault. But the louder, more stubborn part of her was filled with a mix of sorrow and rage for the fact that his attentions had now forced her to speak it aloud.

"Not tonight, _please_." The last word seemed like a slap in the face as she uttered it, and she could almost feel him wincing. That she had been reduced to politely _begging_ her husband not to make love to her.

She felt him lean upwards – his breath no longer warming her neck. "Alright." His voice sounded small, but not as disappointed as she might've thought.

This was it - she knew she had to say it. She couldn't go through this again tomorrow…

Gathering the words up, she expelled the rest of them as quickly as she could: "And not…for a while either."

Her eyes closed once more, hearing the harshness of her tone – and his hand fell limply from her back. "…Oh," he breathed, barely audible even in the quiet of the room. She could hear hints of disbelief, sadness and frustration coating the word – and she felt each one in turn as she bit her lip harder.

As she lay, staring at the dark, blank walls before her, she wondered at where they had gone so horribly wrong.

She _loved_ Matthew. Yet these days, every time she looked at him, all she could think of was her shame…her disappointment…her failure. She was beginning to associate these things with him and these nights they spent together, and had slowly begun to hate herself for it.

Of course, she could only imagine what he must have thought of her now.

It hadn't been like this a month ago. There had been signs, of course – but they were easy enough to ignore.

Things had become a bit more…predictable. But she supposed that was true of any marriage. After all, one couldn't always find it exciting and…completely fulfilling every time, surely?

But the night the dish had broken…seemed to change things.

They'd gone up after dinner and had quickly disrobed, as usual – her hands were moving restlessly over his back, her hips dutifully rising and falling in time to his movements when suddenly—

A dish shattered somewhere downstairs. She heard Ellen scream, and Moseley's voice trying to reassure the maid and even Isobel asking what had happened. There were footsteps of people going back and forth between rooms and…it seemed so strange and she couldn't figure out why.

Then all of a sudden, it occurred to her that she'd never heard what had gone on downstairs while she and Matthew were…otherwise occupied.

She'd only heard it tonight…because of the silence between two of them. Not a deliberate "trying to keep the noise down" quiet, but an accidental silence – not one borne from discretion but…routine and disinterest.

Then she felt Matthew's weight settling more fully atop her, breathing heavily against her neck. As she became aware of her body once more, she realized with a sick feeling in her stomach that she hadn't been…paying attention. She had lain there, mute and inert, with her husband on top of her and her thoughts had been of something else other than him.

After that, all she could think of was she must not think of other things when they were together. But of course, that was akin to forcing those thoughts into her head:

_I must not wonder if I can get that letter in the post tomorrow_.

_I must not to ask Anna to fix the clasp on my dress_.

And every so often, there was the one that came, unwanted and unbidden – _This must work, this has to work, please let this work_…

But of course, it didn't.

It hadn't worked the month before either – though she now recognized that those had been the first signs. Back then, it had only been a month since they'd devoted themselves fully to this goal – and obviously, things weren't expected to happen in a month. All they needed was a bit more time…

He'd seemed so understanding when she said they couldn't be together for that span of days. But once that time was over, their passion had overtook them so quickly that they'd sunk to the floor – missing the bed entirely.

With a few pillows to cushion his back, they'd gleefully shed their nightclothes, and Mary had taken to the kind of bareback riding she wouldn't have even attempted on a horse. Her legs tight around Matthew's hips – her equestrian knowledge being put to good use – cries spilling from his lips as if he was urging her to quicken her pace…

Then all at once, his hands were grasping her legs. "Wait—" he choked out. "Darling— stop…"

Breathing heavily, she'd stared down at him – through the hair that had whipped wildly around her face…trying not to concentrate on her utterly compromising (and suddenly very awkward) position.

In one swift movement, he'd broken their intimate embrace, helping her unsteadily to her feet, before laying her gently down on the bed and settling himself atop her.

"Better…" he murmured, huskily – giving her a long, slow kiss, and she – figuring his back might simply be in pain – had cheerfully wrapped her legs around his and they'd finished their enthusiastic coupling on the bed.

It was a small thing, but she only realized later that they'd stopped trying novel positions for their intimacy. They'd become…completely traditional. She hadn't even noticed at the time…

A couple weeks before that, the heady pleasure derived from their hands and mouths on each other's bodies had seemed to slowly vanish as well. What had always been an enjoyable prelude to the actual act had gradually started falling by the wayside. As soon as their clothes were removed, it was as if they had no time to waste on anything extraneous – anything that could not eventually produce their desired result.

Of course, it hadn't been like that in the very beginning. Back then…oh, it had been so much fun to try.

She recalled fondly a weekend…several days after she'd first started drinking that blasted tea. They'd been invited to the Abbey for luncheon, but had tarried so much in bed that morning that it seemed a near impossible task to leave the comfort of each other's arms.

"I've an idea…" he'd murmured into her hair, as she ran her fingers idly along the arm that was wrapped across her chest.

She'd given him a look that was half-curiosity, half-terror.

He'd only offered a cryptic smile and teasingly entreated, "…But you must promise to forgive me," before gently nuzzling the side of her face.

"Well, that rather depends on what you're asking…" she'd responded, with mock seriousness, "and how…convincing you are in your apology…"

He'd kissed her fiercely then – before gathering the bedclothes around his waist as he'd risen from the bed. With a gasp, she'd pulled the remaining sheet up around her, wondering at what he could possibly be doing. But her amusement turned to shock when she saw him ring the bell…

Mary froze. Moseley would be here any second. They'd never had actually rung for Moseley when they were…completely unclothed. Her eyes grew larger as the footsteps grew closer and when she realized Moseley was actually approaching the door, she ducked under the sheet in utter embarrassment – peeking her head out the side where she couldn't be seen.

Matthew had only opened the door the slightest bit, but still hadn't grabbed his dressing gown. He, too, was completely uncovered except for the coverlet he held around his waist – which was starting to sag around the back of him. It gave Mary an entirely too tempting view from her hidden position.

"Ah, Moseley," Matthew informed the other man, casually - as if her husband was not simply standing there without a stitch of clothing. "Will you kindly inform my mother that Lady Mary and I shall not be accompanying her up to the Abbey for luncheon. I'm afraid we've both taken…rather ill this morning."

"Is that right, Sir?" Moseley's voice had an edge of disbelief to it, but his tone showed nothing but deference.

"Quite so. As a matter of fact, Lady Mary and I would hate for you to be…around us in such a state – so perhaps you, Ellen and Mrs. Bates should take the afternoon off."

Mary had to bite her lip to stifle her laughter – the evident sarcasm in his voice so enticing, she'd felt herself becoming rather affected by just his mere words.

Moseley had assented to her husband's wishes and the door had closed behind him. Once Matthew had turned around, and she saw the undeniably alluring smirk across his face, she'd dragged him back to bed and showed her appreciation for his talented mouth with her own.

After they were quite certain everyone else had left, they'd planned on trying out the bed in his dressing room…but instead, had gotten no further than the doorway. Her palms had spread against the open door. One of his hands had cradled her stomach, the other on her hip, and she felt his sweat on her back. It was a good thing no one was in the house, for the banging that echoed throughout would've been impossible to explain…

That had been three months ago, she realized suddenly.

It had taken them years to finally get married, a year and a half to enjoy it thoroughly and only three months to nearly wreck it entirely. How had she gone from completely desiring her husband to wishing on some nights that he might never touch her again?

As she lay there miserably, Mary decided this had gone on long enough. She needed other ideas – a fresh perspective. At least there was one other person who she thought might be on her side.

* * *

><p>"Finn! No!" Sybil knelt beside the little boy, who was currently inspecting the books in the corner of the sitting room as if he might fancy reading one of them – or at least tearing out the pages. "What did Mama tell you about touching things that aren't yours?"<p>

For his part, Finn only blinked at his overly concerned mother with less than concerned blue eyes. The boy seemed a miniature version of his father. A tiny Branson with her sister's dark hair was toddling around her sitting room.

Suddenly, Mary looked away – blinking rapidly, before foisting on a smile once more. "It's alright, darling," she assured her sister. "They're just books. Not exactly his great Granny's priceless vases."

"Well, _our_ Mama's favorite tea set is now missing a saucer," Sybil remarked, scooping her son up to rest on her lap as she took a seat in the chair opposite Mary.

Mary sighed. Several days ago, she had extended the invitation to her sister to come see her. She hadn't figured on Sybil bringing Finn along, which was seeming to make normal conversation near impossible at the moment.

"I'm amazed she has yet to find you a nanny," Mary remarked, crisply, assuming the more familiar role of the slightly put-upon hostess.

"What do I want with a nanny? I can certainly handle him better than some poor girl who's never been a mother," Sybil answered, distractedly. Finn reached for her sister's face with a "Ma ma" sound that made Mary's heart swell, and then sink. But her expression only wavered for a moment.

"Just think – you'll soon be able to commiserate with Edith," Mary offered, not quite sincerely.

Sybil smiled in acknowledgment – falling back into their familiar pattern once more. Then she was silent for a moment. "I admit, I'd rather hoped it might be…us commiserating," she offered, glancing down at the child on her lap. "Sorry. There's just…been some talk…"

"Of course," Mary responded, barely refraining from rolling her eyes. "I'm sure they all wonder whether I'm to be the Marie Antoinette of the family."

"Oh, Mary – you mustn't say things like that!" Sybil lamented, letting Finn slide off her lap to the floor where he resumed his exploration. When Mary didn't respond, her sister looked back up, with what seemed to be a reassuring smile. "After all…I'm sure you're perfectly healthy."

Two doubts loomed in Mary's mind at her sister's words, but Mary chose only to voice the first: "Healthy, but not exactly young."

"What do you mean – Edith's almost the same age as you, not to mention Mama…" Sybil trailed off. Neither girl wanted to be reminded of their mother's remarkable ageless fertility…or tragedy. "But if you're concerned, perhaps you should see Dr. Clarkson—"

She was swiftly cut off by Mary's bitter, anxious laughter. "Sybil, I don't need _him _to tell me what I already know!"

"Well, I'll tell you what _I _know, and it's that home remedies don't work."

Mary raised her eyebrows, but kept silent.

"Oh, I've heard them all, and not just from Granny." Finn pulled at her sister's dress, as Sybil continued: "Statues of expectant mothers around your bed. Eating more fish. Not eating cold food. Soaking in hot baths…"

Stilling the child's hand, his mother produced a small toy dog, handing it to her son, who eagerly placed the object in his mouth. Almost unconsciously, Mary's fingers stroked the pendant at her throat.

"Really, darling – can you honestly see me doing any of those things?" Mary replied, almost indignantly – thinking she would've rather tried those ideas as opposed to inhaling catnip tea for the last three months.

"Ba da ma ma," Finn piped up, the dog now removed from his mouth, as he toddled around the floor.

"I still think you ought to see a doctor," Sybil informed her. "That is, unless…"

Finn had wandered over to Mary, staring at her with those wide eyes. "Da da…" was his nonsensical babble.

"Unless…what?" Mary repeated, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

Sybil let out a sigh, shaking her head. "Unless…it's not _you_ that's the problem," she admitted, as Finn placed the dog toy on Mary's lap.

"No!" Mary insisted – leaning forwards in her chair. The toy tumbled to the ground, startling her nephew, who then burst into a flood of tears.

"I…I'm so sorry," she apologized, automatically – feeling even more like a failure for making a child cry.

Her sister gathered up her son, shushing him as she cradled the boy's head against her chest. "No, it's alright…He's just tired. I think I should…"

"Of course," Mary murmured over Finn's wailing, as Moseley suddenly appeared, escorting her sister to the door to the door with her charge.

Sybil called something over her shoulder that sounded like perhaps they could speak later, but Mary barely heard over the little boy's cries. Moseley then ushered mother and son to the waiting car, the door closing soundly behind them.

Then all at once, it opened again, and Mary hastily wiped her eyes when she thought she heard Moseley enter the house. But as she looked up…her mouth fell open.

"…Matthew… Hello," she greeted, hoping she didn't sound as miserable as she felt. "You just missed Sybil and Finn…"

He was giving her such a look as she could barely describe. It seemed pained and determined, sad and sick all at once.

"What is it?" she asked, with as polite a smile as she could manage.

"I have to…" he started then stopped – rubbing his lips together. His voice seemed on the edge of breaking. "…and I hope that whatever happens you'll forgive me," he continued, as if picking up the thread of an imaginary conversation they'd been having.

She folded her hands in front of her, biting the inside of her mouth to maintain at least an outwardly calm appearance – before somehow eking out, "And…and why would you be in need of my forgiveness?"

"I…I can't tell you why, except that I…" He glanced at the ground, eyes shutting briefly, and he swallowed. Opening his mouth, he closed it again before he finally raised his eyes to hers. "I'm leaving..."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: I cannot tell you how much I appreciate all of your support and reviews – they mean so much to me! __A special thanks this chapter to my sister for the read through and OrangeShipper for her enthusiastic reassurance._

_Oh - there's a chance this story's rating might go up eventually, so feel free to add it to your story alerts if you don't check the site for M-rated fic._

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><p>Her hands were folded demurely in front of her, her expression betraying not the slightest hint of upset or aggravation or even surprise.<p>

The atmosphere tightened around them as they stood in silence. He wasn't sure why he'd just blurted it out like that, but supposed it was somewhat fortunate that Mary didn't even seem to care….

Then almost casually, she ventured, "Well, I assume you'll be returning?"

"What? Of course, I— of course." Her comment threw him more than he cared to admit. He blinked, trying to regain his composure.

Mary nodded, not showing the slightest hint of emotion.

"And…is this trip of a...personal nature?" She spoke again with the same poorly concealed feigned interest he'd seen her reserve for her parents' frightfully boring dinner guests.

Even in his agitated state, something about her question didn't sound quite right."I...suppose it is," he responded finally. "I'll leave Friday, stay the weekend and return on the Monday evening train." Mindless comments about the duration of the trip made it sound no better, so he then tried to minimize the untold reason for it. "It's nothing, really – just some…business I have to take care of in London."

"I thought you said it was a personal trip," she reminded him.

"Yes, personal_ business_," he snapped, suddenly feeling as though he was being taken to task for his mere word choice. Then he heard the harshness in his tone with a pang of regret. "I'm sorry, I…I should've waited to mention it."

Her lips rubbed together, as she nodded briskly. "Well, it's no matter." She swallowed then, her insincere smile brightening further. "You must let Papa know, so he can ask them to open up the house for you."

He was flustered by both her sudden suggestion and the falsely upbeat tone to it. "No, I...don't wish to be a bother – I'll just…stay in a hotel."

"Oh, nonsense, Matthew – I'm sure it's no bother!" she replied through mirthless laughter. "And don't worry," she continued, as the door opened behind them. "They'll be very discreet."

There was an odd catch in her voice at the last word, but before he could respond, his mother had entered the house – followed by Moseley.

"Ah, Isobel!" Mary grasped his mother's hands – kissing her on the cheek. "I'm afraid it may just be you and Matthew for tea. But I shall see you at dinner."

His mother looked uneasily back and forth between him and Mary. "Very well, my dear…is everything alright?"

Mary did not meet his eyes as she answered, "Oh yes. I just think it'd be best for all involved if I…retired upstairs for a bit. Please excuse me."

"Of course…" his mother replied, but Mary had already headed up the stairs. Watching her grip the banister, he thought he saw her other hand clench into a fist at her side before she turned the corner and was gone.

His mother then turned to him, sounding vaguely accusatory: "What did you say to her?"

"Nothing!" he protested at what suddenly felt like an ambush.

"It certainly seemed a bit more than nothing."

"I don't want to talk about it," Matthew replied, irritably – wondering why his mother's watchful gaze always made him regress into more childlike behavior.

Handing his coat and hat to Moseley, he stalked into the sitting room – hoping that would signal the subject was closed.

But of course, she followed him. "Did you tell Mary about your weekend plans?" his mother asked, more loudly than was appropriate for what should've been polite conversation.

He hesitated. "In a…manner of speaking." Shaking his head briefly, he picked up the newspaper – hoping _that_ would now indicate the subject was closed.

"And what does she think?" Her voice once again seemed a little too loud, as if she was trying to make it carry up the stairs. "About you seeing Dr. Linton?"

His newspaper crinkled harshly as he lowered it to speak. "She…doesn't know," he admitted – guilt poking through his annoyed façade.

"Well, of course she doesn't. One look at your wife would've told me that." She sighed, taking a seat on the settee. "I don't understand why—"

"No," he cut her off, swiftly. "You _don't_ understand. It's none of your affair, Mother, and I'll kindly ask you to keep out of it." Then before she could say any more, he rose from his own chair and rang for Moseley to bring them some tea.

As Mrs. Bird didn't receive the message that Lady Mary wouldn't be joining their party, the tea service still included the same second smaller teapot as it had for the last few months.

Matthew's eyes traveled from the teapot to the sitting room entrance, and he was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of loss. How was it only through Mary's absence that he noticed her presence? Though in truth, he'd felt like neither of them had really been noticing each other for quite a while now.

It seemed that she no longer seemed to care where he went or what he did, but he couldn't say he blamed her. He was a sorry excuse for a husband…for a man. But when they'd married, he hadn't any idea he'd be stealing away the life she deserved.

If only he'd known what was (or rather wasn't) to come, he honestly wished he could've said he wouldn't have pursued her. Yet how could he have possibly let her go when he loved her – God, how he loved her…

_Stuck in a waiting room. _Once, he'd remembered her telling him that by marrying, she could escape such a fate. She'd probably never dreamed that by marrying him, she'd be stuck in a place that was far worse.

* * *

><p>When Mary came down for dinner, he was determined to be better. Perhaps he couldn't tell her about his trip, but he could be attentive in other ways.<p>

Almost as soon as the plates had been served, he looked at her eagerly. "You mentioned Sybil came by earlier. How is she getting on?"

For some reason, the color seemed to momentarily drain from Mary's face. "She's fine," his wife answered quickly. Running her fingers over her necklace, she added, "She and Finn weren't here long." Her tone was flat, though thankfully devoid of the false brightness that had seemed to infuse all their interactions these days.

Realizing it was a subject she did not wish to discuss, he tried again after a few more moments. "Any news from the big house?" Generally, mentioning her family put Mary slightly more at ease – allowing her to restore that familiar order to her world.

"Not that I'm aware of. Still talking of the same things they have for years." Her finger traced idly around her water glass, and indeed the table seemed to command her interest far more than the conversation.

Desperately, Matthew wracked his brain for anything to engage her interest. "Did you finish that novel you were reading? I noticed it in the corner of the sitting room when I—" He suddenly realized he'd violated their tacit agreement to not mention the books in the sitting room, and broke off abruptly.

Looking down at his plate, he then forced himself to start eating – if only to keep from speaking any more.

There was a clatter of cutlery, and he saw his mother had set down her knife and fork. "I had the most interesting day at the hospital," she declared, glancing from him over to Mary before she elaborated. "Do you know we're seeing more army veterans than ever these days?"

His eyes traveled warily to his mother, but her expression revealed nothing.

When neither he nor his wife would answer her question, she nevertheless continued. "It seems whatever trauma they suffered during the war was so acute, they believe they have yet to recover from it – even years later."

At this, he saw Mary look concerned. "Really? How terrible," she murmured, and he couldn't help but notice her blink briefly in his direction.

"Yes, it really is quite tragic," his mother went on. "But once we examine them, we usually find there's absolutely nothing wrong."

"Dear me." Mary now sounded as if she was merely trying to be polite. He attempted to continue eating, hoping if they both ignored his mother, she'd soon stop talking.

But she remained undeterred, as she turned her attention to his wife. "Quite so, my dear. You wouldn't know it to look at them. They're perfectly healthy, yet you should hear how damaged they still believe themselves to be."

"Alright, Mother," he warned, shooting her a glare across the table. When he realized he had no justification for cutting her off, other than he was onto her game, he offered weakly, "You really shouldn't attack those who have no means of defending themselves."

Of course – as he should've guessed – this only encouraged her further. "I'm not attacking them, Matthew. On the contrary, I think it's wonderful. You know, these men who come in with their wives—"

"That's _enough_." Matthew's voice was low, but unmistakably firm, and he saw Mary's shoulder flinch as he spoke. He closed his eyes briefly before meeting his mother's unblinking stare across the table.

Breathing in deeply, he attempted to soften the impact of his words. "I just…don't think it's appropriate to discuss hospital business at dinner."

After that, the three of them finished their meal in silence – no one daring to try to speak again.

The moment the plates had been cleared, Mary had risen from her chair. "Well, this was lovely," she said, bright sarcasm dripping from every word. "But I feel in need of an early evening. Goodnight, Isobel…" She seemed to favor his mother with a sincere smile that faltered as her voice faded. "…Matthew."

His mother voiced her goodnight, as he tried to meet Mary's eyes – which seemed fixed on a point just beyond him. He tried to catch her eye to nod to her, but instead his gaze ended up on her back as she left the room.

Once he'd heard her footsteps fading, Matthew sat back down – turning his attention to his mother. "What on earth was that?" he asked, no longer able to contain his frustration at her ridiculous conversation stunt.

"That was my attempt to knock some sense into you, Matthew." She appeared to be using that low tone he recognized from his childhood – the one that always seemed to indicate that he'd erred in some way.

"By…humiliating me with that…hospital discussion?" he practically sputtered.

"Why is it so humiliating that Mary knows the truth?" His mother was insistent. "How has keeping her in the dark worked for you so far?"

"I told you, Mother – it's not your affair—"

"No, that's where you're wrong," his mother gently corrected him. "Because you think you're protecting your wife, but she believes she's losing you. And let me tell you, you will lose _her_ in all the ways that matter if you don't do something about it."

"But...how could she think…" His words seemed to echo in that empty future he'd been imagining – one that seemed to be growing emptier the more he considered his mother's words.

Yet Mary was the one who'd been pushing _him_ away, the more stubborn part of him protested. He was only seeing this doctor because he wanted to gather all the facts before he presented them to her – not try to patch their relationship back together based on false hope and guesswork. Once Matthew found out what was wrong with him…once he knew for sure, only then could they perhaps start to repair all the damage he'd done.

"You need to fix this, my dear." His mother's voice broke through his unsettled thoughts. "I've kept quiet because it was what you wanted, but no more."

He suddenly thought of another time when his mother had advised him to fight for Mary. Of course, that was back when he'd thought he could be content to lose her…back when he hadn't yet known what it was like to belong to her…

With a noncommittal nod to his mother, he muttered something about being tired as he left the room and journeyed up the stairs, each step seeming more difficult than the last.

He made the mistake of glancing over at the closed door across the corridor, before looking away just as quickly. Then he turned his eyes to his own bedroom door. At the last minute, he hesitated – opting instead for his dressing room, and his usual nighttime routine.

When he finally opened the door to their room, however, all he saw was complete darkness.

He left the dressing room door ajar so some ambient light could at least guide him towards the bed. Mary was lying down – her eyes closed, her hands resting under her cheek. Considering how uncomfortable she appeared, he was fairly convinced she was only pretending to sleep.

As he got into bed, he watched her seem to curl up more fully around herself. There was a lump in his throat as he observed how every muscle in her body appeared to repel his presence.

Having no idea what she'd actually do if he touched her, he tried a hands-off approach. "Mary, are you awake?" he asked, rather stupidly before adding, "I…I have something to tell you."

He wondered why he didn't actually just say the words, but it was so difficult when it was really the last thing he wanted to do…

"Whatever it is, can it wait until tomorrow? I'm tired…" She sounded as if she was forcing the words out through gritted teeth, though her tone remained perfectly polite.

At least she'd given up the pretense that she was sleeping. "I just…I wanted to explain…" He swallowed heavily, but pressed on, "…about my trip to London."

"Oh please, darling—" she seemed to bite out the last word—"you don't need to explain yourself to me."

"But…don't you want to know why I'm leaving?"

At this, she sat up sharply and turned more fully around. "Why should I?"

He hadn't expected the question, and it threw him for a moment. "Because…" He hesitated, and finally said the only thing that seemed to make sense at the moment. "Because you're my _wife_…"

Her eyebrows raised at his statement. "Oh, Matthew…please don't act as if you're doing this out of some kind of _duty_. If you _wanted _me to know, you'd have told me already."

"I'm…trying to tell you now!" She read him too well, and tonight it was positively infuriating.

Now it sounded like she was almost laughing. "Are you really? I must say you're giving quite the opposite impression."

"For God's sake, will you please _listen_?" he half-snapped, half-pleaded with her. "Mary…" Desperately, he reached for her shoulder.

She wrenched it away, and in fact turned more fully away from him – sitting on the edge of the bed, so he was staring at her back.

When next she spoke, her voice was strangely thick, but unmistakably cold. "I don't want to hear it. Whatever reasons you have for this trip are your affair," she informed him. "Kindly leave me out of it."

"Leave you out…?" he repeated in incredulous disbelief. Leaning forward, he began blindly reaching for her – his hand finding her arm, his fingers trailing down to her hand, as his thumb moved over her ring. "Darling, how could I…" He spoke softly into her neck, squeezing her hand – trying to communicate all he seemed utterly unable to say.

For a moment, he thought he felt her lean against him before she pulled away once more with a sharp, slightly pained breath.

Her shoulders straightened where she sat, as if she'd come to an important decision. "I think…I'm going to sleep in the dressing room." Now she sounded as if she was almost struggling to breathe. "I'm not…entirely well."

It wasn't the truth, he knew, but it also wasn't a lie - and his skin suddenly felt cold in all the places it had touched hers. Suppressing a shiver, he weakly countered, "Well, then you should stay here – I…I'll go…"

But Mary was already moving to the door. "Oh, no." Her voice sounded higher and thinner as she continued with her back to him. "It's fine. Please…don't trouble yourself."

"I'm not—"

"Goodnight, Matthew."

He heard the door close (once…then again, though it was already shut), and soon, even the small band of light visible in the doorway seemed to go out and he was in darkness once more.

There seemed to be a chill coming from the empty side of the bed. In spite of himself, his hand moved over her pillow, feeling the loss of her, and his eyes closed involuntarily as he heard the echo of his mother's words in his head.

_In all the ways that matter._


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Thank you so very much for all your reviews –I'm so incredibly grateful for your support!_

* * *

><p>Mary's mother had been wrong. Everything did not look better in the morning. However – as Mary had learned long ago – there was no reason it couldn't at least appear that way.<p>

She reentered her room, closing the dressing room door behind her, and almost immediately set about staging the scene. She attempted to scrub the tear tracks from her face, to re-tie the ribbon into her matted hair…even to rub some lotion under her eyes and on her cheeks, which looked reddened and swollen in the harsh daylight.

As she took her place for the performance, she pretended Matthew's side of the bed was simply closer – that she hadn't deliberately climbed over it on the way to her own side. That she hadn't grabbed his pillow to prop up her back, as she adjusted her posture so she was sat perfectly straight before the bell summoned her audience.

A few minutes later, the door opened and right on cue, Mary adopted a polite, serene smile. For all intents and purposes, she appeared the very picture of a contented woman in her marital bed.

"Good morning, Mrs. Bates." Mary recited her expected lines, before quickly clearing her throat – appalled that she sounded so hoarse.

"Good morning, m'lady," Anna replied. "Would you care for some tea?" Without waiting for a response, Anna poured a cup of the same catnip brew that Mary had faithfully consumed for the last few months.

Unfortunately, Mary wasn't the only one who knew her part to perfection.

Still, she hesitated. To refuse would be breaking character, yet the prospect of drinking it seemed equally unthinkable. Ultimately, the pretense won out and she accepted the cup – twisting her lips into a smile to prevent them from trembling.

Her eyes burned, and she told herself it was from the fumes – but she soldiered on, sipping the tea with the smile on her face. At least it had gotten to the point where she no longer tasted it anymore.

By the time she'd finished breakfasting and had moved on to being dressed, Mary was feeling relatively more positive. She was reasonably convinced her performance had at least managed to keep the illusion of her happy life intact.

Her calm demeanor was tested, however, when she involuntarily flinched as Anna tightened her corset ties.

"Lady Mary, are you alright?" Anna wondered sounding concerned.

"Yes, of course." Mary offered up the calm assurance, biting the inside of her mouth to suppress the sting in her shoulders.

Her answer must've been convincing enough, for Anna lapsed back into silence.

However, as Anna was doing up Mary's hair a few minutes later, she remarked, "Mr. Crawley left rather early this morning…"

Before Mary could respond, Anna appeared to realize how her statement could've been construed, and added, "I'm sorry, m'lady - it was just rather unusual to see him up and about when I…got in today."

Blinking unexpectedly, Mary wondered if Anna had awakened with Bates that morning…at the cottage where the two of them lived. It had been Mary who'd insisted upon the arrangement, and argued rather strenuously to her father that it was simply _wrong_ for a married couple to be living apart...

"I do hope everything is alright, m'lady."

Of course, she could've been asking after Matthew's job or expressing concern that he'd had to leave so early. But it seemed obvious to Mary that Anna her ladies' maid had become aware of her mistress' marital troubles.

Anna finished Mary's hair, and with as normal a smile as she could muster, Mary murmured, "Thank you, Mrs. Bates."

After Anna had left the room, Mary lingered a moment longer…surveying her complexion in the mirror. She forced herself to smile once more. There…she _looked_ happy. The tracks of her tears were barely visible now. Perhaps Anna knew what Mary had tried to conceal, but Anna was certainly capable of remaining silent when required.

She could leave it all in this room, Mary decided, as she closed the door behind her. No one would have to know, except Matthew and herself, and Anna-

"…M'lady."

Moseley was coming up the stairs now, and upon seeing her, he ducked his head to reveal a slight flush in his cheeks.

Of course, she'd nearly forgotten about Moseley. The man's role in the whole ordeal suddenly came back to Mary in embarrassing clarity. He'd been forced to enter the dressing room to retrieve her husband's clothes earlier that morning, and had found a bleary-eyed Mary huddling under the coverlet atop the bed, hugging a pillow in a fierce embrace.

She'd raised her head when she'd heard his several mumbled apologies, and he'd averted his eyes from her tear-stained face and it was all over in a matter of minutes, but the fact that it had even happened at all was simply unconscionable!

What if he'd told Anna earlier, and that was how she knew? And if so, did Ellen know? And Mrs. Bird? Had her marital difficulties become fuel for gossip in this small house? If so, it was only a matter of time before someone let something slip to those at the Abbey – Anna commenting to her own husband, or Mrs. Bird mentioning it to Mrs. Patmore when the two of them went shopping…

Mary's was so preoccupied that she didn't even look up as she wandered absently into the sitting room, only raising her eyes when she realized she was not alone…

"Ellen!" she gasped with a sudden cry. "What are you doing?"

The maid froze in the corner of the room - feather duster poised in mid-air. "I'm…only dusting, m'lady," she replied, almost timidly. "The….books, they been here so long, they're starting to—"

"Just leave them be!" Mary exclaimed, quite without thinking. When she heard her nearly hysterical tone of voice, she dipped her head, abashed. "Why…why don't you move on to another room?"

Ellen immediately did as requested. Once she was gone, Mary collapsed into the nearest chair, her fingers now gripping at her necklace. She'd lost her temper with a servant. It was only a matter of time before Ellen mentioned it to someone else in the house and the gossip began anew …

_Lady Mary has developed a bit of a temper lately…is it any wonder Mr. Crawley left so early this morning…_

Of course, they all knew Matthew was leaving, didn't they? Moseley must have overheard – he'd come in with Isobel yesterday, and perhaps then he'd told Anna, who'd told Ellen…

Perhaps they even knew why…oh, God…

Biting her lip, Mary attempted to put the thought out of her mind. Her heart protested that Matthew would never do a thing to hurt her, but obviously she couldn't fault him for it. She had nothing to offer him that he wanted anymore, nor was she able to give him the one thing he _did_ want...

Clenching her pendant, she felt the chain dig into her neck.

With a flash of determination, Mary rose from the chair and simply walked out the door. Every step was positively exhausting, but yet somehow less tiring than staying in that cramped, confined house one minute longer.

* * *

><p>Stepping out of the familiar bathtub in her own former home, Mary felt refreshed, and indeed considerably more restored to her familiar former self.<p>

One fib about Crawley House's faulty plumbing later, and Lily the housemaid had drawn Mary a bath as requested. There, the previous day and evening, and even this morning had melted away into the warm, cleansing water.

Her tear tracks had evaporated and the scarlet tint to her cheeks had faded to a healthy pink. She'd even impulsively tilted her head back, drowning her matted hair. The ache in her shoulders had dulled, and even the pounding of her heart had slowed.

It was the venerable Lady Mary Crawley who'd reemerged from that bathroom, and who Lily helped to re-dress in Mary's former room.

As Mary sat at her former dressing table, she felt all her secrets were once again safe here – just as they had been for so many years.

She departed her room with all of her former grace – her chin tilted slightly upwards as she walked down the familiar corridor of her childhood home. As she passed Sybil's room, she swore she could almost hear—

"Mary! What are you doing here?"

Her youngest sister seemed to fly from the middle of her room to embrace her, and it was as if they'd both stepped back in time.

Hesitating only a moment, Mary repeated her lie, accompanied by her most sincere smile. Her eyes then lit upon the open trunk that sat at the foot of Sybil's bed.

"What's all this?" Mary asked, brightly – albeit with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Sybil nodded towards her task. "Tom sent a telegram the other day. He says it's much better now. That...we can come back." She looked down at her hands. "I think he misses us, though he'd never admit it."

"Of course," Mary agreed, sparing a brief thought to all the things men didn't admit. Her brow furrowed slightly. "Where's Finn? Did Mama finally get you a nanny?"

Her sister laughed. "No…I'm afraid_ Mama_ has become my nanny. She took Finn down to the village. Actually, I think she'd be perfectly content to see _me_ go, if only I'd leave him here…"

Mary nodded, smiling appropriately, her hand traveling to her neck almost unconsciously.

Sybil appeared to notice the gesture and surveyed her sister with what seemed a critical eye. "Your necklace is quite lovely," she remarked with something approaching sincerity. "Those are pearls, aren't they?"

"Oh? Yes – I think so." Mary tried her best to sound distracted, as if she didn't know exactly why her sister was asking.

Letting out a sigh, Sybil shook her head. "Mary, I really think you need to see a doctor."

Mary attempted a disaffected air as a last resort, though she knew she was fooling no one. "Well, I can't think why…"

"You know that Dr. Clarkson could help you—"

"Not this again!" Mary protested, trying not to roll her eyes. "Darling, I love you, but really, I don't believe you're _that_ naïve!"

"Says my sister and her home remedies!" Sybil shot back, sounding almost affronted. She turned a scarf over in her hands before setting it down on the bed. "But it's not just…that. You don't look well." Her eyes darted briefly to her older sister before finding the ground once more.

"I'm perfectly fine, darling."

"Are you?" Sybil pressed her, seemingly unwilling to let this go. "You seem…tired. Like you haven't slept in weeks."

The joke came to Mary's mind in an instant, and she was simply too tired to care for how inappropriate it was, given the circumstances. With an almost sardonic laugh, she suggested, "Maybe I'm pregnant."

She regretted her decision a moment later - watching in abject horror as the glimmer of hope on her sister's face quickly vanished as she realized Mary wasn't serious. Sybil's expression only reinforced the monumental disappointment that Mary's life had become – in every possible way.

Her sister was silent for a moment longer before appearing suddenly thoughtful. "Well, since you won't see a doctor, let me offer you _my_ medical opinion." That patented look of determination appeared upon her sister's face as she reached for Mary's hands. "You need to get away from all this. From the family, from…everything."

"And how do you suggest I do that? I can't exactly pop off for a weekend by myself." Mary's remark sounded more insincere than she hoped, and she only prayed it would go unnoticed.

But Sybil looked lost in thought, almost as if she hadn't even heard. When next she looked up, her eyes held that unmistakable sparkle of a new idea. "What if…you came to Dublin?"

She felt quite certain her sister must have been joking, so she merely let out a brief, albeit gentle laugh in response.

"I'm serious!" Sybil insisted. "You could stay with us! Tom's mother's just moved out, so you'd have your own room—"

"My own room?" Mary repeated in stunned amazement. "Darling, how long would you be expecting me to stay?"

"Well, certainly longer than a weekend!" The smile then faded from her sister's face, as she pointed out, "You don't go anywhere, Mary - not anymore. You and Matthew haven't traveled at all this year, have you?"

"No, but that was…" Mary trailed off – unable to defend herself. Sybil was right, of course. It hadn't bothered Mary then – what with preparations for Edith's wedding combined with the unexpected rigors of Matthew's job, it had simply made sense not to travel at that point. Yet she now wondered if that had been their first mistake…

"But I couldn't…" Mary tried again, offering a feeble objection. How could she leave Matthew— leave her home, her _life_ for any considerable period of time — what would they do without her…

Then suddenly, she realized…they all had other things to keep them occupied. Matthew and Isobel had their jobs, and the servants had the upkeep of the house. Only Mary's presence at Crawley House was utterly superfluous. The only thing she _could_ do was be a wife and…well, her recent performance in that role had obviously been less than stellar. To say nothing of…the other role that had continued to elude her…

Sybil's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Yes, you can," she assured Mary – placing a slip of paper into her hand, as if to emphasize her point.

Mary found herself momentarily stunned by the gesture – the paper feeling strangely thick. What had been an idle suggestion now seemed a plausible reality.

Still, she couldn't help but turning it over with a slight gasp. "Sybil, this ticket is for tomorrow…" Her eyes flew to her sister's – wide and questioning.

Shrugging, Sybil replied, "It was meant to be my ticket…but Finn and I can come a couple days later. It's not as if Mama will object..." Taking Mary's wrist in her own, she closed her older sister's fingers over the ticket. "But I think you _need_ to get away...more than we do."

Utterly overcome, Mary looked at Sybil, blinking…her mind still fighting through the shock of the idea. "But darling…" she began, still so unsure of what to say, "Tom is expecting you and Finn – I don't think he'll be too pleased to see me in your place."

"Oh, don't worry about him – I'll send a telegram this afternoon. You'll both be thankful for the peace and quiet before we arrive, trust me…"

Mary simply stood there, marveling at her sister's ability to plan for nothing and yet have everything work out exactly according to plan.

"Well …as long as you're sure…" Mary managed one last weak attempt at questioning her sister's sincerity.

Sybil grasped Mary's hands. "Of course I am!" she exclaimed, sincerely – as if reading her older sister's mind. "This will be good for you, Mary. You'll feel a lot better…that's _my_ medical opinion, anyway" she joked, lightly – as if this really was some kind of treatment plan.

"Sybil, I…I don't know what to say..." It seemed all Mary could manage at the moment.

Her sister squeezed Mary's shoulders. "You'll have plenty of time to thank me later!" She paused a moment, practically bouncing on the soles of her feet. "Well, go on then! Haven't you a trunk of your own to pack?"

Nodding faintly, Mary left her sister's room in a daze - the whirlwind of excitement and anticipation now seeming to settle into a kind of hazy confusion. One moment, Sybil was telling her to see a doctor, and the next she'd given Mary her ticket for the boat to Ireland and was entreating her to leave…

Had Mary really agreed to…run away? To flee her problems and Matthew and her life at Crawley House? She supposed it was how everyone else around her seemed to deal with difficulties in their own lives…Matthew, Sybil, Isobel during the war – even her own father had once suggested escape to America as a viable solution for her.

She'd always intended on staying and dealing with her problems as best she could…but even Mary, who loved a good argument, had grown rather weary of fighting. Indeed, she wondered now if running might actually require less energy than staying.

Reentering her own room, she worried the ticket between her fingers. As she slowly took a seat at her dressing table, she stared into the mirror – hoping to gain some clarity, some insight as whether or not she should actually do this...

Then she watched her fingers drift over the pearl pendant she'd worn faithfully for the last several months, and wondered when it had started to feel like an albatross around her neck.

Unfastening her necklace, she laid it on her dressing table – feeling incomplete, and free all at once.

She tried to smile, and thought she looked happier. For she was…wasn't she?

Her childhood dreams were coming true. After all these years, Mary was finally running away from home.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Many thanks for all your incredible feedback – it absolutely keeps me going with this story!_

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><p>When Matthew had left the house that morning, he felt like nothing made sense anymore. As if he had stumbled into this completely wrong version of his life, and he had no idea how he could possibly begin to make it right.<p>

The distraction of work seemed just the thing to take his mind off the previous evening, and the empty bed he'd left that morning. Unfortunately, the reserves of patience he'd often drawn upon for his job were curiously low. He'd nearly lost his temper several times, to the point where others seemed content to simply leave him alone as the day progressed…

Though he continued to stay past when he should've left, as he wasn't entirely certain whether Mary wanted to see him. Obviously, he couldn't blame her – not after what had happened between them the night before.

Unfortunately, he'd never been very good at not seeing Mary for very long…and the more he thought of her, the more his work turned from bothersome to intolerable. Something told him he needed to see her. More than that, he _wanted_ to see her.

So, when Matthew left his office, he was filled with a fresh optimism. He had decided to set aside his personal embarrassment and sense of shame, and simply tell Mary about his trip to London. Even if she no longer wanted anything to do with him, he at least owed her the truth.

It was later in the afternoon – almost evening when he arrived back…he'd missed tea, and would just be home in time for dinner.

As he approached the house, he suddenly recognized the feeling he'd often experienced before heading into battle – the anticipation of the unknown. A curious uneasiness seemed to pervade the house as he entered. Moseley was there, as ever – providing a comforting presence, some sense of constancy, but something else was not…right.

His mother greeting him at the door did nothing to alleviate that feeling.

"Hello, dear!" Her smile looked incredibly forced, and did nothing to ease his anxiety. "You're home rather late today. Is everything alright?"

"I got…stuck at work…" he mumbled, hoping his half-truth wasn't as transparent as it sounded. "Where's Mary?" The question was almost reflexive as his eyes darted around the room.

Now his mother twisted her hands together, and his nervousness only increased – his heart seeming to pound in his ears, drowning out all other thoughts, save his wife. "Mother…" There was a slight tremor to his voice now, much as he tried to suppress it. "What is it?"

His mother didn't speak for a moment, but seemed so calm, Matthew told himself it was silly to panic. "You'd better go upstairs, I think," she replied. "I'll tell Mrs. Bird to start dinner now that you're here."

He watched his mother leave for a moment, trying to make sense of it all…she didn't appear that concerned, so it most likely wasn't too serious and yet…

With a deep breath, he started up the stairs – barely feeling them under his feet as he walked – the churning in his stomach only intensifying as he reached the top of the stairway.

The door to their room was mostly open and the light was on. Cautiously, he approached it – feeling suddenly shy. He'd not seen her…nor had he spoken to her since the previous night…

"Mary?" he called, uncertainly, as he hesitantly peered inside. "Are you quite—"

The rest of the sentence died on his lips at the sight of an open trunk at the foot of the bed – into which his wife and Anna appeared to be emptying out Mary's wardrobe.

For a moment, he simply stared…his mind churning with possibilities. He pushed the worst ones to the back of his consciousness, and forced himself to speak. "I…do hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Mary appeared to freeze at the sound of his voice, but when she turned round, her smile looked as cheerful as ever. "Oh – Matthew! I thought I heard you come in. I was going to tell you…Sybil has invited me to come stay with her new family in Ireland."

He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, her phrasing having done nothing to ease his discomfort. "You mean, for a visit?" he clarified, hopefully.

"Well, it'll probably be a bit longer than that," she rejoined, brightly. "She seems keen to have me stay for…a while."

Matthew was reeling, but somehow he offered an almost distracted response. "Of course… That will be…quite a journey. I can see why you'd want to get an early start on packing."

"Actually, it's not exactly an early start," Mary replied – with only a cursory glance in his direction. Ducking her head, she added, "You see, I'm…leaving tomorrow."

He stared at her, almost unable to speak. "…Tomorrow?" he choked out, after what felt like a long silence.

Now she turned around, shrugging her shoulders impassively. "You'll not even notice I'm gone," she assured him with a seemingly blithe smile. "After all…it won't be long until the weekend."

He flinched at her last word, all at once recalling his resolve to speak with her. Before he suddenly realized…he still couldn't tell her now. Anything he said would seem as if he was making excuses to prevent her from leaving. She'd never believe him.

The idea of his trip at this point seemed patently ridiculous. Even if they could somehow get past whatever was wrong with him, it was not as if she'd be here when he returned…not if she was planning to go, to…_stay _in Ireland…

The whole situation had become so absurd he couldn't help a brief, pained laugh.

Her brow furrowed, her tone now turning frosty. "I'm sorry – did I say something funny?"

With a dismissive shake of his head, he replied, "Not at all." He then watched her practically glide across the room, seeming all too happy about handing her entire life to Anna to pack in that trunk. He blinked several times before finally mumbling, "Dinner will be ready shortly. I'll just…see you downstairs."

"Oh, I don't think I'll be joining you for dinner," Mary informed him, her arms full of a dress he'd always loved, as Anna took it from her.

Her words stung like a slap across the face. His lips twitched, then flattened. "And why is that?" he asked, trying in vain to control the sudden burst of acrimony that had flared within him.

If she noticed his sharper tone, it certainly wasn't reflected in her rather blasé response: "Well, I've far too much to do…if you could just have them send up a tray…"

For some reason, it seemed the most unreasonable request imaginable. His shoulders tensed, trying desperately to project a visible sense of calmness. "You mean…you'll not be dining with us…tonight?" He placed particular emphasis on the last word.

"I simply don't see how I could," she replied, with what seemed an almost cheery shrug of her shoulders.

Anna had placed that dress that he loved on the bed and was now folding it in two, while Mary had already headed back to the wardrobe to retrieve another.

"Mrs. Bates, would you mind leaving us a moment?" Matthew's voice was low, but remarkably controlled. His fingers rubbed together at his sides – an attempt to maintain his composure masquerading as a mindless gesture.

After a brief glance at Mary, who seemed to offer the barest nod, Anna turned back to Matthew. "Certainly, Mr. Crawley," she assented, with a respectful bob of her head.

The door shut behind Anna, and Mary barely seemed to notice. She went over to the bed, picking up the folded dress that he loved and laying it into the trunk herself.

"Dear me, what have I done now…" she wondered, innocently, with only the slightest incline of her head towards him.

Just the tone of her voice seemed to get under his skin, with its tinge of infuriating mockery. "About…that tray you requested…"

Now she turned fully around. "For heaven's sake, Matthew – I didn't mean _you_ needed to speak to Mrs. Bird personally. Just get Ellen or Moseley to sort it out…" Her attention drifted away from him once more, as she continued to empty her wardrobe.

"No," he responded, after a moment's hesitation.

She let out what sounded like an exasperated sigh. "Oh, very well…I'll do it myself…" Her eyes traveled towards the door almost lazily, still not meeting his directly.

Her response seemed to only increase his resolve. "No," he repeated, firmly. "I…think it'd be best if you came down to dinner tonight."

Her eyes narrowed a bit, and he saw her shoulders stiffening. "Well, _I_ think it'd be best…" she repeated his words, almost mockingly, "if I continued to help Anna with the packing, so she can get home to her husband."

"How nice that you have such regard for the feelings of _Anna's_ husband," he remarked, acidly. When she didn't respond, he added, "We can discuss this further when I see you at dinner."

She was looking directly at him now - her eyebrows raised in what seemed to be horror, as well as a partial challenge.

"Matthew, are you…_ordering_ me to dine with you?" Her voice had dropped as low as his as she stood rigidly in the middle of the room.

He was a bit taken aback by her words. Obviously, he'd never ordered her to do anything – not in almost two years of marriage. It was a line he'd never crossed.

Taking a breath, Matthew replied, as evenly as he could, "I am merely…_suggesting_ it might be considered rude not to dine with…everyone else tonight – especially given the circumstances."

"I see…" He saw the rise and fall of her chest, her own breaths becoming markedly more labored. "And _given the circumstances_, might it be equally rude to ask one's husband to sleep in his dressing room tonight? One would hate to be accused of having so little regard for his feelings…"

"Will you stop playing around and come downstairs?"

She barely blinked as she replied, "Is that an order?"

"Mary…come to dinner."

"…No."

This was it. The moment where he could verbally _demand_ her obedience…her respect. But of course that was impossible. He could no more demand anything of his wife than he could now hold a normal conversation with her…

Instead, he simply turned around and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

To say he was no longer hungry would be a vast understatement.

* * *

><p>The only reason Matthew even forced himself to take a seat at the dinner table was because explaining to his mother why he had no intention of eating this particular meal was less appetizing than the prospect of actually eating it. His stomach roiled at the argument he'd just had with Mary…the fact that he'd lost his temper over a <em>dinner<em>.

Of course Mary had every right to leave, he reminded himself bitterly. After all, it was not as if he'd given her any cause to stay.

Moseley then broke into his thoughts by entering with three plates of food. When the man saw only Matthew and Isobel seated at the table, he seemed to realize his mistake. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir—" he was already apologizing. "I thought that Lady Mary—"

Matthew closed his eyes for a moment at the mention of her name, before attempting to reassure the man. "No, it's quite alright." He swallowed that bitter regret, as he added flatly: "I'm afraid…Lady Mary won't be joining us this evening."

Of course, Moseley expertly showed no signs of surprise, merely nodding with a" Very good, sir" as he turned to leave with the third unclaimed plate…

"Moseley!" Matthew exclaimed, startling both himself and the other man. He rubbed his lips together, as he practically whispered his request: "…Please ask Ellen to take a tray up to Lady Mary's room." He could feel his mother's eyes on him as he spoke, but he could not bring himself to meet them.

Then, with a flash of guilt-ridden inspiration, he continued: "And…see that Mrs. Bird sets something aside for Mrs. Bates as soon as she finishes upstairs. I'm sure she'll be…anxious to get home to her husband."

After Moseley had left the room with a brief murmur of assent, Matthew then picked disinterestedly at his food, staring at the empty chair. At least his mother realized he was in no mood for conversation of any sort, and had remained remarkably silent throughout the meal, such as it was.

However, he knew that couldn't last long.

"Don't you think someone ought to go upstairs and see how they're getting on?" his mother asked him, pointedly – after the last of the dinner dishes had been cleared away.

Matthew was in no mood to discuss what was happening upstairs. "I'm fairly certain my wife doesn't need me to help her pack," he snapped – realizing his unfortunate wording a moment too late.

His mother merely gave him a look, before then quickly claiming fatigue and bidding him goodnight.

He wandered back to the sitting room, though it now felt more like a waiting room. His attempts to read the newspaper or a book proved to be less successful than mindlessly staring out the window and studiously not looking at the pile of books in the corner.

Finally, he heard Anna descend the stairs, and head towards the kitchen. Mary was now packed for her trip, he thought, as he headed back upstairs. Tomorrow…she'd be gone.

This was their last night in the house together. And he'd spent it yelling at her about not coming down to dinner.

When Moseley had finished with him, Matthew once more found himself slightly skittish about entering his own room. Perhaps she didn't want to see him after what had transpired this evening. But he quite simply _needed_ to see her. Even if she ordered him to sleep in the dressing room…he couldn't just leave things as they were.

Quietly entering the room, he saw Mary lying in bed, turned toward the wall, though her eyes were open…her face that same neutral mask. She did not acknowledge him.

He tried to meet her eyes with a small conciliatory smile before shedding his dressing gown and getting in beside her. Though he maintained a respectful distance, he could still sense her shifting away from him, just as she had last night...

Reacting almost instantly, he exclaimed, "Don't go." He knew he should've been more specific, but at that moment he couldn't bring himself to care.

It at least got her attention, as she seemed to still at his words. "Matthew…" she started – almost as if to protest – though she didn't move.

"Don't…leave tonight. Please…"

As he glanced at his wife, he felt all his anger and frustration melting into a crushing sense of loss. He'd driven her away with his blasted trip and his blasted injury and his blasted inability to give her everything she deserved – to be the kind of husband she wanted. He _deserved_ to lose her, he told himself, and yet he still found the idea almost impossible to bear.

Suddenly, he was reminded of another time…a time when she'd also told him he was leaving. That night, he'd been able to convince her otherwise. That night, he thought he'd never lose her again...

"Please stay," he heard himself practically begging once more.

"…I can't."

It didn't matter whether they were speaking of tonight or tomorrow. She would leave – the question was simply when. All he wanted to do now was hold on to her while he still could.

Matthew shifted towards her then, tentatively running his hand over her hair, and down to her neck. The muscles in her back seemed to tighten, but she did not pull away.

"Oh, Mary…" he murmured in tremulous apology for so very many things.

He felt the strands of her soft, lovely hair beneath his fingers, and closed his eyes – trying to memorize the feel of her. With a deep breath, he continued to stroke her hair…attempting to wordlessly atone for all his faults, and alleviate at least a portion of the pain he'd caused her.

Her back remained turned, but he could feel her body shifting slightly…almost, _almost_ curling into his. His other arm moved slowly to her waist, resting lightly on the curve of her hip. He held his breath, but she didn't move.

His fingers trailed down the side of her face, glancing against her neck… then back through her hair, as he tucked a stray lock of it behind her ear

The words formed on his lips (_I'm sorry, I…_) but his senses were too full of her to break the silence. He fought off that drowsy fog of impending sleep just to gaze at her back…storing every last detail of her he could manage, as his hand kept moving through her hair.

She'd made no response to his attentions…but she hadn't left either. It was enough. For tonight…it was more than enough.

As he lay in bed with his wife on their last night together, he wondered how everything could still feel so right, and yet be so wrong all at once.


	8. Chapter 8

Mary hadn't been sure about her decision when she had taken the ticket from Sybil. Only after the previous evening did she realize how certain she actually was.

She hadn't slept much that night – to say she was up before the servants would've been an understatement. Pratte was due to meet her at the house in the morning, and she only had to write a letter and make a brief detour to the Abbey.

It was still dark when she reluctantly extricated herself from Matthew's tenuous embrace – not trusting herself to look back as she left the room – her head so full of all she was leaving…and all she still wanted. She pushed it out of her mind, focusing instead on her destination. All she had to do was get there…

The journey felt like the longest of her life and she kept going over previous events…wondering if she'd indeed made the right choice. Perhaps she shouldn't have come. Perhaps it would only do more harm than good. But she owed it to herself to at least try. After all, Sybil had seemed to believe a change of scene would clear her head…

Mary went out the day after she arrived to send a telegram, but after that, she mostly kept to herself. She was a presence at meals, of course, but she mainly stayed in the room that didn't feel the least bit like hers – reading or staring out the window or just…thinking. It shocked her how much she missed Matthew – what she wouldn't have given in those first couple days to have him there.

But then she'd wonder if he was missing her, or would even want to see her and she had to put the thought out of her mind. All she could do now was hope she'd made the best decision she could for them.

She was in her room when she heard the door, heard the familiar voice and she was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming sense of panic. Why had she come – she didn't belong here! Why had she ever talked herself into it…

Still, she _was_ here, and whatever misgivings she had about her reasons now were irrelevant. She couldn't go back—no, she didn't _want_ to go back. It was time to stop hiding.

With a deep breath, she left her room, and made her way by the door.

"Hello," she greeted, with a small, genuine smile.

There was silence in the Grantham House foyer. Mary stood, looking hesitantly at Matthew – who was staring at her with wide, searching eyes.

"Mary…" he breathed, her name a tentative question on his lips. "You're…here…" His hands seemed to twitch at his sides, and for an instant, she caught the faintest glimpse of a warm smile.

In that moment she knew in her heart…whatever his reason for being here, it wasn't what she'd feared. She'd always thought he'd never hurt her…now she _knew_. That smile – that light in his eyes she recognized…it wasn't one of betrayal.

"Oh God, what's happened?" His gaze now shone with worry. "Is everything alright?"

She took only the intended meaning of his question with an affirmative nod. "Oh—yes. At least it was when I left – well…I suppose you'd know better than I would."

He seemed momentarily confused, lowering his eyebrows slightly at her response. "I…I meant with Sybil…" His lips rubbed together, as if he was trying to work something out. "You're supposed to be in Ireland…"

"Am I?" She bristled at the implication. That fear of the unknown was beginning to creep into the corners of her mind, eating away at her resolve. After another moment, she tentatively asked, "And…what about you?"

Words seemed to momentarily fail him – something akin to sorrow flashing in his expression. Clearing his throat, he replied, "…I went to see Dr. Linton – he was…a colleague of my father."

"…What?" Reacting instinctively, she took a subconscious step towards him almost before she'd even processed the words, her fists clenching at her sides. "Why? Matthew…are you ill?"

He seemed to find this question darkly amusing, as he offered a brief, sarcastic chuckle. "No," he responded, with more than a hint of regret. "No, I'm…perfectly fine."

She gave him a look at his cryptic response. "You don't sound too pleased to hear it," she couldn't help but point out, archly – now stepping away from him.

"And why would I be?" His voice was practically breaking as he added, "We both know the truth!"

"Do we? Pray don't keep me in suspense!"

"Of _course_ there's something wrong!" He leaned towards her at the same time as she leaned away. "God, Mary – that's why we…" She saw him swallow, closing his eyes for a moment before brokenly concluding, "That's why the room…upstairs, that's why it's…"

Mary heaved in a breath at his words – feeling as if her breath had been momentarily stolen from her chest, and she had to stop her hand from traveling to her bare neck.

"What are you— how can you even say that?" she cried, suddenly. Desperately, she scrounged for words, still struggling for air: "Especially when it's not even _true_! I…I know…"

"You— What do you mean you _know_? Did…did _you_ see a doctor?" he wondered, taking a halting step backwards.

"Oh, not you, as well! I don't _need_ a doctor – I just _know_!"

"How?" He took a small step towards her. "How can you possibly know?"

Letting out a breath, she shook her head, her laughter almost pained. "Come now, Matthew—honestly! Why do you think I kept drinking that strange tea? And—" Her fingers now clutched at the memory of her necklace. "And…everything?"

He took another couple steps forward before he stopped. "But you…_you're_ not the one who came back from the war—"

"That was _years _ago!" she insisted, stepping slightly towards him. "Why are you so surprised you're perfectly healthy now?"

"And why are _you_ so convinced that you're not?"

She felt the worry that she hadn't dared to acknowledge surging within her, trying desperately to quash it behind the neutral mask she'd been wearing for months…

But he knew her too well, a brief look of deep concern settling across his face. "Mary…?" he asked softly, in that tone that pleaded with her to tell him everything.

Glancing up, she found his eyes, shining with so much anxiety, grief and love. Another confession silently wrenched from her heart, and with a breath, she was once again forced to expose her greatest fear:

"What if I really was…made different by it?"

He seemed momentarily confused, as if he'd forgotten – though she unfortunately knew that was impossible. While he'd said that no forgiveness was needed, she also knew neither one of them would ever be able to forget.

Then she saw it – the exact moment he realized what she'd meant. His face seemed to fall, and suddenly, she was back on that awful night – the night she was prepared to lose him forever – and she knew now that she couldn't bear it happening again.

"I'm…" The apology stuck in her throat; he didn't deserve this – not after everything, not after all this time…

All at once, he'd rapidly closed the distance between them, only stopping when he was inches away from her. "Don't…" His voice was thick, but insistent. "Don't _ever_ think that…not _ever_."

"But…" Her fists clenched tightly at her sides – their fingers almost brushing, and it was becoming painfully difficult for her eyes to remain open with his breath on her lips.

"I will _never_ believe that, nor should you. Do you understand? _Never_…" His hands reached out to cup her cheeks, his thumbs stroking insistently, and she could feel herself begin to thaw at his touch.

He was so close…so close to her now. She could feel emotions of all sorts unraveling within her, and it was all too much…

"Matthew…" She closed her eyes, feeling his nose brush hers – his mouth a hair's breadth from her own, and the endearment just slipped from her tongue: "My darling…"

"Oh, my dear, _dear_ Mary…" Her name sounded like a gentle caress from his lips, his words thrumming against her skin.

The space between them became non-existent – all formality shunted to the side, as their mouths immediately opened to each other. Her arms wound round his neck, as she felt his wrap around her waist – and she pulled him even more firmly against her, almost leaning back with the effort. Suddenly there was a loud clatter and one of the table legs had tipped upwards with the force of her hip leaning upon it.

She eased her weight off the table - their eyes meeting briefly before she was back in his arms. Her feet moved them towards the staircase, backing him up further and further…until she heard his back hit the banister behind them.

He let out a shocked grunt, but did not halt his exploration of her mouth. She suddenly felt herself straining against his lips when his foot rested on the first stair. Awkwardly, she maneuvered herself between him and the banister, her hands now running from his hair down to his shoulders.

As he shuffled backwards up the stairs, she moved instinctively to follow him. Working his jacket open, she was attempting to rid him of it when she felt them meet resistance from the banister once more.

His jacket fell to their feet, forgotten as they continued to slowly ascend the stairs. Her hands grew restless with a sudden need, and they moved to his waistcoat…

She was so preoccupied with her task that the sudden feel of his mouth on her neck produced an almost involuntary moan." Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, feeling her own back thump against the banister.

Her cry seemed to break the spell and they pulled apart, breathing heavily, cheeks darkened both from both present and promised exertion, staring at each other halfway up the staircase.

All of a sudden, he lifted her, her arms instinctively winding round his neck as she attempted to wrap her legs around his. Together, they navigated the rest of the stairs with a precarious determination, knowing one wrong move would send them both careening in entirely the wrong direction.

Once they reached the landing, he eased her down – his hands on her back now, tongue in her mouth, as they guided each other through the corridor. Downstairs, they heard a door slam – and he pulled away once again.

"Darling…" he gasped, his forehead pressed to hers before continuing to kiss her deeply.

Her hands ran over his shoulders, and up into his hair. "It's alright." She attempted to soothe him with another kiss. "It's just the servants – they won't…" Suddenly, she flushed at her presumption, dipping her head. "That is, if you don't…if you want…"

"No—I mean, yes, I mean, of course I—" A kiss seemed to attempt to clarify his feelings on the matter. "It's just, well…" Now he dipped his head, with a slight chuckle. "The room…I don't remember which…"

He seemed so adorably flustered, she couldn't help a brief laugh of her own, as even more of the months-old tension seemed to splinter into the air between them.

She directed them to the proper door, keeping her eyes on his as she silently opened it. As they entered the doorway, she ran her hands over his arms…feeling the thin material of his shirt and—

"Your clothes!" she exclaimed, breaking their embrace.

He still seemed lost in the haze of desire as he murmured, "What…what about them?"

"On the stairs—" She attempted to break from his hold, but found herself spun around, one of his arms now securely around her waist, as he pressed kisses to the back of her neck.

"Leave them," he whispered hotly against her skin.

"No, we can't—Matthew!" she insisted — now pulling away in earnest as she peered round the doorway. "What—whatever will the servants think—"

"I don't care," was his breathless assurance into her ear.

He kissed her again, and once more, and she could feel her objections fading as fast as her inhibitions. There was so much they'd left outside this room to be here…so much to pick up, to put back together…

But she couldn't possibly think of all that now.

Their hands found each other, and she relished the feeling of undressing him while simultaneously being undressed by him. The remaining tension between them seemed to fall away with his shirt, and her dress, his trousers and their underthings until finally there was no fabric left to remove, and the only tension was in fingers tensing to the feel of skin beneath them.

The sensation overwhelmed their remaining faculties, as they sunk to the floor in a gently fevered embrace. Unfolding and enfolding limbs round the other she writhed in his arms, preparing to receive him, but was surprised to find herself now hovering over him as he lowered himself onto the floor. Her eyes met his, and with the slightest flicker she understood his intent. With a breath, she sank him deeply within her, a sigh escaping at the rediscovery of such intimate contact.

They moved almost hesitantly at first – as if reintroducing themselves to one another – but the memories flooded back, their muscles moving instinctively together. She relished the feeling of such unbridled passion, and yet…as her body stroked against his, she…felt something was still not quite right...

Grabbing his hands, she pulled him to her, over her with a soft moan…her back bent, her legs splayed. She felt him shifting slickly, probing her very depths and she groaned in rediscovered bliss…when she found herself being raised and lowered above him as he now bent back to accommodate her.

They continued in this manner – pushing and pulling one within the other, rocking back and forth together, up and down…up and down… She inhaled gasps, exhaled moans, breathing him in through his kisses, their fingers as twined together as their bodies.

Slowly but certainly, she felt the gradual crest of excitement and exhaustion building and building within her, priming her with each heady thrust of their bodies together until her legs grew weak with the effort, and she flung herself against his chest, arms clinging to his back.

He held her up, supported her as she rode and rode and rode the waves of elation pounding through her, into her, an explosion of ecstasy streaming through her veins to her lips, bringing blissful voice to her sighs.

A cry reverberated in her ear, her body trembling with its force – and whether it was him or her or both of them, she couldn't say, for at this moment, all that mattered was they were well and truly reunited at last...

For a few long, peaceful minutes, they merely held each other, keeping one another upright – a happy mess of satiated limbs and sweaty sighs.

Then all at once, she felt herself being lifted – her head settling into the crook of his neck, wrapping her arms and legs around him, just as before. Her damp skin was beginning to chill in the late afternoon air, and not even settling down under the bedclothes warmed her as much as being in Matthew's arms after what seemed an interminably long absence.

She rested against his chest, nestled under his chin, as his hand traveled through her hair. The gesture made her smile, as she remembered it fondly from several nights ago…along with the decision she'd made shortly thereafter…

"Mary…?" he asked, suddenly - as if he could read her thoughts. "What…made you change your mind? About…leaving?"

There was no way to articulate it in a manner that didn't make her sound either ridiculous or hopelessly sentimental, so she merely lifted her head with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

"Who says I changed my mind?" she replied, with a slight smirk. "I _did_ leave, didn't I? This was _my_ personal business…"

His hand suddenly stilled when he heard his own words repeated back to him. Then, as if comprehending their unintended implication, she felt his arms wrap more tightly around her. "I'm sorry…" he whispered, fiercely into her hair –his apology punctuated with a fervent kiss to the side her forehead.

"…So am I," she replied after a moment, her hand now clinging to his shoulder in a half-embrace – willing the words to stand in for all those she couldn't bring herself to utter now.

Somehow, he seemed to understand, merely stroking her hair – keeping up the amiable silence that had settled around them.

At this moment, Mary felt as if her entire world was comprised merely of herself and Matthew. That she should be happy – _would_ be happy with him in her life…

With…_only_ him in her life.

All of a sudden, it occurred to her that her life might never change...and she couldn't afford to wait for the moment when it no longer felt incomplete. She could find fulfillment in other things, surely? There had to be more to life than merely waiting for dreams that might never come true.

Perhaps this could – and should - be the start of a different life together…for both of them.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I gave serious consideration to breaking up this chapter differently, because the M rating probably destroyed any inherent surprise factor. But ultimately, I felt it was more important for the narrative consistency of the story to structure it this way._

_Thank you for your support, and for bearing with this fic! I so appreciate all your comments!_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: I'm so humbled by your feedback to the last chapter, and cannot tell you what it meant to me! I absolutely value all your comments._

* * *

><p><em>What is a weekend?<em> For once, Matthew found himself at a loss to answer that question.

Time had simply seemed to stop – becoming insignificant now that Mary was in his arms once more. Hours became minutes, a day only several hours – which seemed to now condense months and months of hurt and silence and secrecy.

The afternoon had turned to evening as they lay together, curled into each other, as they'd not slept in quite some time. When his eyes finally reopened, he'd had no idea whether it was evening or midnight or hours before dawn. He knew it was past time for he and his wife to talk about everything, but he couldn't spoil tonight or tomorrow or whenever this was, so he simply drew her more closely to him and fell back asleep.

When he awakened properly the next morning though, he found he'd gone from a relaxed to a rather more weakened state. Mary appeared similarly stricken, and he realized they'd both not had a meal since the day before.

He started to amble from the bed, but her voice stopped him: "And where exactly are you going?" Even when she appeared half-asleep, his wife's tone had a certain command to it.

"You must eat, darling…and so must I…" His hand stroked lightly, almost timidly down the side of her face. "I'll be back when you've finished."

Now she was sitting up, eyeing him with that patented skeptical look. "Matthew, the servants saw your clothing on the stairs. Do you really think requesting two trays is going to shock them now?"

He couldn't argue with her logic (and he really did want breakfast), so he simply feigned sleep when Mary rang the bell. He at least partially buried his head under the pillows and bedclothes – attempting to preserve some sense of modesty.

Unfortunately, it was too comfortable a position, for he must've dozed off again – rousing only out of necessity when the tray was placed in front of him. He'd not eaten breakfast in bed since…shortly thereafter the time he was in the hospital – and was suddenly pleased to be able to ascribe more pleasant associations to the experience.

As the dishes were being cleared away, he gazed over at his wife. They'd both been starving, and had thus not exactly indulged in conversation throughout the meal – but the silence was beginning to unnerve him. It reminded him too much of how things had been before she'd left…

"Mary…" he began, clearing his throat once they were alone again. "I know we…didn't exactly get a chance to…discuss things…"

A lazy smile curled around her lips for a moment, though her expression now appeared perfectly serious as she sidled up to him. "Quite right. There are many things I feel the need to…discuss…" He felt one hand around his head and another…mirroring the action, slightly lower…

"That's…not exactly what I…I…" he groaned in feeble protest.

It was no use. He had no defense against her powers of persuasion. She brought up the point so clearly that he felt the need to put his finger on the issue, then delve deeper into it. When he was certain she could no longer handle it, he chose instead to take the low road, mouthing that which he knew repeatedly until the conversation reached its peak.

She then parted from the subject, shifting the discussion - drawing him instead into a good argument – one that lasted slightly longer than previously, though they did their best not to raise their voices quite so much.

When at last, they'd both said all they possibly could they lay together, still glowing from the thrill of such engaging discourse.

Somehow, they'd still managed not to talk at all.

* * *

><p>His eyes opened at the feel of her quiet stare, and he relished the chance to finally gaze at her face instead of her back. Not for the first time, he was struck by her gentleness, and it hit him afresh how much he wanted his wife to be able to share this nurturing side to her, that fierceness of her love…<p>

"Darling…" he murmured, with a soft kiss as an apologetic prelude. "We really should—"

"I feel in need of a hot bath," she interjected, almost as if she'd not heard him. "I've asked Lily to draw one."

Ducking his head, he realized sheepishly that he'd most likely never be able to look this housemaid in the eye ever again – if she'd been in here _twice _while he was in such a state of undress.

Still, he smiled indulgently. "Of course…" Another kiss, before he slowly began to make his way to the side of the bed, willing his lazy muscles to hold him upright long enough to stand…

"I don't remember saying you could leave… " He turned back around to meet her mischievous grin and knowing raise of her eyebrows. "Well, not yet anyway…"

"…Oh?" was all he seemed able to manage at the moment.

Mary went over the plan in hushed tones, as if this was some kind of strategy session: "I'll go in first, and then tell Lily we'd like luncheon afterwards. Once she's gone downstairs to arrange it…" At least she had the sense to blush slightly as she trailed off. "…You may take that as your cue."

"Are we having a bath or preparing for battle?" he teased her lightly.

Her expression showed mock injury. "The latter, if you're not careful," she warned, eyes sparkling with mirth as she pulled on her dressing gown, sparing a brief glance at him as she opened the door.

He watched her leave, along with all thoughts of a serious conversation.

Counting silently in his head – a pre-battle ritual he was pleased to adapt to these slightly less stressful circumstances – he then stealthily made his way down the corridor and successfully breached the bathroom entrance.

Such diligent execution of his prescribed duty gained him an approving nod from his startlingly beautiful commanding officer. She was resplendent in the water - strands of her pinned-up hair gracing her long, lovely neck…down to only a teasing glimpse of her chest – which was mostly submerged in the translucent shadow of the bath.

She shifted her position slightly forwards – eyes averted as he silently shed his dressing gown and climbed into the bathtub behind her. Despite their shockingly intimate position, he found himself soothed by the serene warmth of the water lapping over his skin.

For a few minutes, neither seemed anxious to break the silence – reveling in this close tranquility together. Their unresolved issues still lurked beneath the surface…but they'd at least managed to break through the tension that had woven its way into their marriage for all those months.

"…Do you know the story of Queen Mary?" she asked, unprompted – her damp fingers alighting on his wrist as his arms stretched out behind her.

For once, he was extremely glad not to be looking at her face, for his own jaw dropped rather auspiciously and he was sure he looked a complete fool. _History_ was pretty much the last thing he expected to be discussing with his wife in the bathtub.

Frantically, he wracked his brain, trying to place the name in the long line of royalty he'd been forced to learn as a child. "…Daughter of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon…" he finally managed, feeling as if this was surely the strangest quiz of his life. "She was the first…regency queen, I believe…"

"You always did do your homework…" Matthew could practically hear the smile in her voice. Her hand brushed lightly against his thigh as she continued, "She married late, you know, and her life didn't…contain perhaps all it should have…"

His hand glanced down her shoulder, before he let out a breath – closing his eyes. He then hoped a smile might lighten his tone. "Well, she became queen, my dear…I'd say that was certainly an accomplishment…"

"Quite right," she agreed, lifting her hand from the water and watching the droplets fall from her fingers. "Her younger sister inherited the throne after she died." Pausing briefly, she then placed her hand atop his, intertwining them together. "If only it were so easy…"

Chuckling briefly in response, his free hand found her other shoulder. "I'm not sure it's ever supposed to be easy..."

He could almost hear the fond smirk in her voice. "Perhaps." She squeezed his hand a moment before adding, "Well, at least it won't be so…complicated next time."

There was a certain lilt to her voice that he recognized whenever she was particularly determined about something. "Won't it?" he inquired, as the idea of 'next time' began to take hold in his mind. Another search, another letter…much like the one he'd received, only…he'd be the one sending it…

"Of course not." She sounded so calm, so sure, as she informed him, "Granny is convinced the next heir will be a chimney sweep or a ditch digger. Which means he'll be completely taken with Sybil's eldest daughter."

The idea was so simple, and so completely preposterous that had he not known her, he wouldn't have believed her to be serious. The temptation for a friendly debate was too overwhelming. "Sybil's daughter…why not Edith's daughter?"

She glanced back for a moment, practically radiating that familiar exasperation that always seemed to accompany Edith's name, and it was so wonderfully normal, Matthew had to suppress a smile.

"Really, darling – be sensible," she replied, before continuing in that precise tone that seemed learned from generations of women before her: "After all, it will be _your_ job to ensure this match goes smoothly."

"_My_ job?" he repeated, almost dumbfounded.

"Well, naturally! You will take this peculiar young man aside and explain to him the virtues of falling madly in love with a woman of noble ancestry—"

"A middle class Irish girl…" he teased, with fond admiration.

She merely shrugged, as if this was an unimportant detail. "One who will have spent every summer at Downton."

Matthew couldn't help but laugh now, with his wife sounding so much like her grandmother. As if everything would simply go according to plan because she had thus decreed it.

"And her Papa will support this annual excursion?" he asked her, with only a slight tinge of mockery.

"Since her Mama will want their daughter to know her English family, I don't believe he'll have much choice," she went on, undeterred. "Her grandmother, no doubt her great grandmother and—" Her hand seemed to rise to her neck, and pat it for a moment before she finished, "and her…aunt and uncle will then instruct her in the proper way of things."

He heard it at the same time she did – the unthinking easiness with which they bestowed those coveted titles on Sybil and Tom Branson. What a contrast they were to the bittersweet titles he and Mary currently held.

Hastily, he added, "It will be…quite different from her home in Ireland."

"Which is why she shall take to it," Mary pronounced with certainty. "We can use her Mama's rebellious streak to our advantage…"

His other arm swept underwater across his wife's stomach, his hand settling lightly at her waist. "I don't envy this man asking her Papa's permission when the time comes…"

"Matthew, have you not been listening to a word I've said?" Mary turned round slightly, so he could just glimpse the profile of her lovely face. "_No one_ will be able to raise an argument against them. For she…she will love him. Very much…" Her features softened immeasurably as she spoke.

Before she could turn back around, he'd gently lifted her chin – running over her jaw with his thumb. "And he will love her. Always…" His hand then moved to trail down the side of her face as he added, "You know things don't always work out so well."

"Don't they?" she asked, leaning against him as his lips softly touched hers.

Holding his gaze for one moment longer, she then backed away, leaning against the bathtub so she was now facing him. She let her own arms settle on either side, so their fingers were mere inches from one another.

"If only it were as simple as handing it all over to Sybil…" she remarked, glancing away briefly. When she looked back, her eyes did not quite meet his. "You know that…Queen Mary lived a very full life…"

"Yes, well she…certainly had enough to keep her occupied," Matthew offered, uncertain to be broaching this particular topic once more.

"Quite right," she replied, though her smile suddenly faded. "But...ultimately, she became too preoccupied with…all that she lacked…"

The last word held a particular sting, and his heart ached to hear her use it. "Oh, Mary…" he practically whispered.

She brushed off his concern, as she always did. "I was only thinking…I'd rather like to keep myself occupied," she ventured, now seeming almost unsure. "When we return, perhaps I might …find something to do, outside of the house. Perhaps with the estate…"

"You'd be wonderful, looking after the estate," he encouraged, with a self-deprecating shake of his head. "Far better than I'd ever be…"

Her smile seemed sadder than he'd anticipated. "Though I'm not sure Papa would approve..." She paused once more, seeming deep in thought. "I know your mother enjoys her job at the hospital, but…I don't believe I'd make a very good nurse…"

Their eyes met briefly, and he closed the distance between their fingers, curling his around hers in lovingly grateful acknowledgment. They'd never really spoken of that time, and he was not about to derail their conversation by mentioning it now.

Dipping her head, she let out a breath. "Besides, I'm quite certain I could never take orders from a doctor." Then she paused, before offering, "Perhaps I could be a teacher at one of the village schools …"

The image of Mary surrounded by children entered his head, unbidden, and he swallowed the unexpected lump arising in his throat. His wife willingly being around children all day…only to come home to… Closing his eyes, he pushed the thought out of his mind. It would do them no good to dwell upon it now.

"Those children would be…rather lucky to have you…" he informed her, sincerely – finding her fingers once more.

She met his eyes with only a brief smile and shrug of her shoulders. "I just think I would enjoy…having somewhere to go every morning."

Matthew smiled at a vague memory of her once having admitted something similar in what seemed like another time. At the very least, it would get her out of that perpetual waiting room he feared her life had become.

Shifting towards her, he gathered her hands in his. "You know I want you to do whatever you like, Mary…" he tried to assure her. "Whatever it is that makes you happy…"

Something in his words appeared to alarm her for a moment, as he saw her eyes flash with an unnamable distress. "Do you think _you _could…be happy?" she wondered, as she appeared to avoid his gaze.

The unspoken end to the question hung in the air for a moment as he considered it. A life with Mary, with…_only_ Mary. He thought of how he'd felt the night Edith had announced her news compared to the night Mary had announced she was leaving. How insignificant the pain of the former had seemed then...

His response was to simply stroke her cheek, lean over and kiss her sweetly. "What do you think?" he asked.

She gave him a small, albeit warm smile in response. "I think we _could_ be happy... " she admitted, her grip on his hands strengthening. Her eyes then flitted down to where their fingers were joined. "That we could find other things to…fill our lives…"

"I don't need anything else," he affirmed, hoping his words could now heal a wound instead of opening one.

For the first time in a long time, they seemed to finally understand each other.

Keeping hold of her hands, he kissed her once more – leisurely, adoringly as if they had all the time in the world. She looped her arms around his neck in response, leaning back further…and further in the bathtub…seemingly entreating him to cover her.

He grabbed hold of her waist, hearing the splash of water over the low murmur of her voice echoing against the walls of the bathroom. More water splashed out, and all at once, he lifted his head.

His gaze fixed on her…dark eyes shining, seemingly unconcerned – but he then momentarily directed his glance to the edge of the bathtub, where water was still dripping from the side.

"Darling…" he teased against her lips. "Whatever will the servants think?"

She paused a moment, as if seriously giving this question some thought. "I don't know…" Her legs glided along his beneath the water, her lips very close to his ear. "I think this...requires some discussion..."

Her mouth then covered his as his body covered hers, and he sank blissfully into her warm, wet embrace.

After all, they still had a bit of time left before the weekend was over. Once they left – once they returned home, he knew they'd have to start living out this future they'd outlined for themselves, no matter what it held (or didn't hold) for them.

Still, he thought, it wasn't time yet...


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: _I'd be remiss if I didn't mention how honored I was to receive a Highclere Award for my interpretation of Isobel in this fic! She returns here, and I do hope I've done her justice. Thank you all so much!__

_I remain tremendously grateful for your support of this story – any and all feedback is so very appreciated!_

* * *

><p>Once she and Matthew had returned from London, Mary had set about finding other things to occupy her time. Unfortunately, the village school seemed to think her interest somewhat of a joke. They kindly (albeit pejoratively) informed her she was welcome to visit and read to the children if she wished, but surely a Lady such as herself had no interest in actually teaching.<p>

She knew one word from her father could've changed their minds, but Mary chose to keep it to herself. After all, she herself had spent almost a year aiding the campaign to free Anna's husband from prison. Surely, convincing the village school that she was up to the task of teaching couldn't be more difficult than that!

When she'd told Matthew about it, he wasn't pleased, but maintained his support for her decision – whatever it was. To her, that was all that mattered.

Though they'd enthusiastically resumed their relationship (a thousand dishes could've broken downstairs and gone unheard), their situation remained unchanged. Yet, somehow this did not surprise Mary. Indeed, it would've seemed a bit mystical if simply healing a rift in their marriage could miraculously gift them with that happiness that had eluded them for almost two years now.

The happiness that seemed to come so easily to both her sisters…

Several months later, Mary, Matthew and Isobel were eating dinner when the telephone had sounded. Moseley had taken the call, and had been forced to interrupt with the news that Edith had given birth.

There were a few moments of silence afterwards – broken almost immediately by Isobel. "Well," she enthused. "How wonderful. …Another boy!"

Mary managed a nod, which her mother-in-law clearly took as a sign to continue: "Herbert Marmaduke. Is…that a family name?"

"I imagine Herbert is after General Strutt, and Marmaduke was my Aunt Rosamund's late husband," Mary answered carefully – feeling a surge of protectiveness over her new nephew, and perhaps even more oddly, her sister.

"How very…distinguished!" Isobel replied, now clearly overcompensating with meaningless platitudes. "Really, just…splendid news!"

But Mary had left the conversation in spirit, surrendering almost entirely to her own thoughts. Her younger sister was now a mother. Her sister's husband was now a father. Sybil and Tom had added new titles to their repertoire and Finn now had a cousin.

For herself and Matthew, however…nothing had really changed.

Yet, this was impossible to articulate to anyone else, including her husband, who seemed uncertain whether to provide commiseration or distraction after they had retired for the evening.

"Darling…really, it's nothing to do with me." Her hands were on his face, as she gave him a long, lingering kiss. "We can be happy for them." Though it was almost entirely a statement, the question still lingered.

He did not smile immediately, and that she appreciated. Clearly, he was no longer hiding his feelings to spare hers. "Of course we can," he replied, drawing her into his arms. A moment later, she heard him quietly admit, "I'm not…_un_happy for them."

Her eyes closed at his words, and she allowed herself a moment of selfishness: "I'm…not unhappy either…"

She let their silent understanding envelop them, until she lifted her head from his chest, finding his lips and they spoke no more about it for the remainder of the night.

* * *

><p>There was nothing particularly unusual about Herbert's christening a month later, except for the fact that afterwards, Mary had found herself separated from Matthew and Isobel. Members of the family were still milling about the church, but somehow, almost unconsciously, she had gravitated towards the altar near Edith…and the baby.<p>

Mary's eyes traveled from the child nestled in his mother's arms to her sister, who delicately shifted away from the noise, as if to shelter her son from the outside world.

The action itself seemed particularly noteworthy, as Mary could not remember a time when Edith had chosen to withdraw from a gathering rather than seek attention. Indeed, today the family would've quite welcomed her presence.

Her sister must've sensed Mary's wondering stare, for she turned more fully around, forcing Mary to speak. "…It was a lovely ceremony," she blurted out, donning a smile to match her words. "Well done."

"Thank you."

That strange sibling tension that had seemed to dissipate with age and maturity suddenly appeared to manifest itself all over again.

It was Edith that broke through the tense atmosphere, with an adoring gaze at her son – a gaze that did not seem to fade even as she found her sister's eyes. "Would…would you like to hold him?"

Mary froze, her mouth falling slightly open. All of a sudden, she was a young girl once more, feeling that familiar tug of adolescent hesitation. "Well, I – I don't—" she stammered, though her arms seemed to stretch out almost instinctively…

"Oh!" Edith's eyes were then drawn away, to some point or person beyond Mary's head, and she drew her son more closely to her. "I'm sorry, Mary – I think Granny is leaving…" Edith glanced at her sister with what seemed a curious mix of sadness and triumph. "Perhaps another time…"

Whatever moment had existed between them had now been forgotten, swallowed up into that haze of newly restored tension, and once again, Edith's presence had become distasteful to Mary. As a small crowd began to gather around the new mother and child, she made a hasty exit.

Only then did she see Matthew, who had clearly witnessed the whole exchange. Cutting off that ridiculous expression of concern on his face with a cool twist of her head, she asked, "Has the car been brought round?"

"It's…just outside," he replied. "We were waiting—"

"Good. I'm sure your mother is anxious to leave."

All they had to do was get home, Mary thought. Just get home and she could begin to forget this whole day…

But once more, Isobel seemed to feel compelled to interrupt her thoughts. "What a lovely ceremony," she commented. "Such a nice church. You know I'm not sure if I'd ever heard of it before."

"It's not considered one of the nicer ones in the county," Mary responded, gazing aimlessly out the window. "So I'd have been surprised if you _had _heard of it_._"

Apparently, Matthew then felt the need to add his input: "Well, Edith…certainly looked happy."

"Yes, I thought your sister did a lovely job with the baby." Isobel continued on with her own interpretation of the day's events.

Mary thought of Edith holding her own son – the gentle, trusting look on her face as she offered to hand the baby—

"Herbert Marmaduke…" Mary let the name drop listlessly from her tongue. "The General barely spoke to Edith when he visited, and yet she names her child after him! I can only imagine what her husband must think. And does she not remember how we all hated Aunt Rosamund's husband – especially Granny…"

That brought all conversation to a welcome halt, and Mary was glad of the peace. Perhaps if nobody else spoke, she wouldn't have another chance to say one more thing that would simultaneously soothe her soul and compound her guilt.

When the car stopped in front of Crawley House, Mary simply opened the door of the car without waiting for Pratte. Vaguely, she thought she heard Isobel mention something about running down to the hospital, but it was beyond her care. She just needed to get out—

"Lady Mary?"

The sound of Moseley's voice startled her, especially when she realized she'd walked up to the house and through the opened door without even noticing his presence.

"This came for you in the post," Moseley continued, handing Mary a small, thin letter.

Turning it over, she glanced at the location on the back, and against her will, her heart begun to sink further. Still, she slit open the envelope, and removed the letter, preparing to read…the news she already knew was awaiting her.

Unable to stare at the words any longer, she looked up — her eyes lighting upon that corner of the sitting room…

She placed the letter down on the table and walked over to pick up an armful of books.

As if summoned by his inherent knowledge of household activities, Moseley suddenly appeared in front of her, blocking her path. "Oh, Lady Mary – let me take those for you," he offered, holding out his hands to relieve her of her burden.

"No," she stated, firmly, before clearing her throat. "That's…quite alright. I'm perfectly fine."

That statement held true…until she reached the top of the stairs. Then she stopped in her tracks, as her progress was halted a second time…

…By a door.

Mary stared at the closed door for the first time in what felt like many months. Then, almost reverently, she placed the books in front it – as if she was leaving some kind of offering for the empty room.

Nodding resolutely to herself, she headed back down the stairs, picking up another pile of books and turning again towards the stairway when someone else appeared in front of her.

"What are you doing?" Matthew asked, sounding almost panicked.

His question only threw her for a moment. "What does it look like?" she replied, pushing past him back up the stairs. She could hear him following her, but she didn't care. It was long past time they accepted (she accepted) the truth.

"Mary…" He was close behind her, his voice almost in her ear – a quiet, desperate plea to stay her hand, or rather her arms.

She placed her second stack of books on the floor, head bowed as if she was praying to them. "I had a letter from Sybil," Mary admitted almost in a whisper. "She's…they're expecting another child."

Behind her, she could feel him tensing slightly, and she didn't have to turn around to know they now wore identical expressions. "That's…" he trailed off, sounding as useless as she felt…and left it at that.

"Yes, well…I thought it was high time to get these books out of the sitting room. They've been gathering dust you know…" She feigned mild disinterest as she spoke, attempting to maintain some level of neutrality on the subject.

"And…where do you mean to put them?"

Mary hesitated, trying to force an unconcerned smile. "I'm not sure. I thought I'd just move them for now and then we could—"

"…Open the door."

His voice shook slightly, but the intent behind his words was clear.

She drew in a breath, turning towards him, but still quite unable to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry?" she replied, as though she hadn't understood his request.

"I think we should…open the door," he reiterated, sounding sadder, but more determined than before.

"I still have a number of books to sort through downstairs…" Mary remarked, as if this was a matter of great importance. "I was thinking I might take some of them to the school, but then I can put them—"

Matthew laced his fingers through hers, now squeezing her hand. "Darling…please…" he breathed, with a hint of insistence that almost invoked begging.

He looked at her, eyes shining, and she dipped her head in silent assent. Their joined hands slowly moved to the door handle, gasping when she felt her palm touch the cold metal as if it had burned her.

The door opened, and her eyes shut - a lump rising in her throat. Her full, heavy eyes then blinked rapidly, trying to clear the sight of the empty room before her.

It quickly became almost impossible to just stand there doing nothing, so she went back to retrieve a pile of books, bringing them into the sunny, well-lit space that seemed dustier than what she carried. There was no furniture, of course, so she was forced to place them on the floor.

Swallowing heavily, she blinked several more times as she considered the room. Yes, it would indeed make a lovely study. It would be so nice for Matthew – so very convenient, right across the corridor. Really, it made so much sense…

Feeling his eyes on her, she offered a reassuring smile and went to go pick up the other stack of books…

"That's...quite enough for now, don't you think?"

His voice stopped her, and she turned round to meet his pleading stare before she caught his gaze darting to the meager pile of books at their feet.

"But darling…surely you'll want more books than that in your study," she insisted – bolstering her protest with a brief, knowing laugh, as if anything about this was at all funny.

He seemed to ignore her attempt at levity. "Well, it _might_ be my study…" he replied, his hand now resting lightly on the small of her back. "And…it might not."

Automatically, she shook her head – as if to clear the thought before it had the chance to take root. "I think we should accept this…as your study, don't you?" She glanced down, seeing the dust that was already starting to settle around them once more.

"I…don't think we know what it is yet." He almost sounded like a small boy as he spoke. "And I…I think I'd rather like to keep it that way."

For a moment, Mary surveyed the room. It had been Isobel's room for many years, but now it was…meant to be a study. She couldn't possibly see it as anything else, not anymore. This second "great matter" had to be put to rest…for both their sakes.

"Since it is your study, I suppose you may do as you wish…" Each time she named the room, the idea seemed to become more and more palatable – before she added, "But I think we both know…those books don't belong in the sitting room, Matthew."

Their eyes met as she spoke. Though he said nothing, she could see his lips twisting in what appeared to be reluctant agreement.

With a brief nod, she led them both back down the stairs. Wordlessly, they worked in tandem, picking up an armful of books apiece and carrying them up the stairway and into the empty room.

At last, the sitting room was clear – the books resting in neat stacks among the dust at their feet. Only the second pile remained outside the door – the one she was carrying when Matthew had intercepted her.

They exchanged a look, and she knew they were thinking the same thing. Once they moved these last books into the room…

His lips found her cheek, his hand grasping hers for another brief moment…before he went to retrieve the remainder of them himself.

When he reentered the room, the sight of those final few books seemed to alter something irrevocably inside Mary. Her shoulders began to shake – from exhaustion or grief or relief, she couldn't say. Though no tears came, she almost wished they would.

Moments later, she gave up and found herself falling into his arms, burying her head against his chest. One hand rested on her back, as the books clattered to the floor with a dull thud.

I know…" he murmured, his other hand finding her hair. "I know…"

They stayed that way for a moment, embracing in the middle of the emptiness. Then, drawing back slightly, she stared at him in desperate desire, before her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers in his hair, her mouth moving fervently under his. She pulled him to her with a jolt and suddenly felt her back hit the corner of the wall to the left of the door – trapped in the room that had liberated her.

Their hands had started to wander south of their shoulders, moving instinctively, willingly confining themselves to that small space that was—

His study, she thought – her eyes fluttering shut again. It _was_ Matthew's study, and all they had to do was close the door and…

Her eyes flew open, and she broke loose in earnest. Breathing heavily, she stepped back, glancing around the room before letting out a shaky sigh. Without a word, her fingers disentangled from his – finding his arm, as they escorted each other back through the doorway.

In the corridor, she saw him watching as she took hold of the door handle – his eyes seeming to flash with a myriad of emotions as it clicked into place…

"We don't—" he exclaimed suddenly. "Can't we just…leave it open a bit?"

Smiling sadly, she murmured, "I really don't think so…" She looked down at their joined hands, and then back up into his eyes. "Do you?"

He held her gaze for a moment longer...before they both seemed to notice the _other_ side of the corridor, where the door to their own room stood ajar.

The scene blurred before her as she led him through their doorway. Claiming his lips on a sob, she then pushed him ardently against the door, closing it definitively behind them.


	11. Chapter 11

It was slightly over than a month later when Matthew found himself able to leave his job earlier than expected. The walk home had been quite pleasant (it seemed unseasonably warm for this time of year) and once he got home, he rather hoped Mary might join him. In fact, a walk might be just the thing to lift her spirits.

She'd been withdrawn lately, he'd noticed. Their relationship remained unchanged, but outside of their room, she'd seemed distracted. The minute any meal was over, she'd been retreating upstairs. As far as he knew, she was still visiting the school once or twice a week – but she spoke so little about it, it was almost as if it didn't matter anymore.

Still, when he'd tried to ask her about it, she always assured him that everything was fine...and then distracted _him _until he'd…quite forgotten the question…

Upon entering the house, Moseley had greeted him pleasantly enough, but something still seemed not quite…right. "Is Lady Mary in?" Matthew asked, knowing the answer but needing it confirmed.

"No, Sir – she went down to — oh, good afternoon, Ma'am."

Matthew turned round to see his mother entering the open door after him. "Matthew!" she greeted him. "Is everything alright?"

"Er…yes, I think so," he answered. "I've…just come from the train."

"Oh!" His mother made a poor attempt to hide her surprise. "I see."

"Is there…somewhere else I'm meant to be?"

"Not at all," was her cheerful reassurance. Only after she'd seated herself in the sitting room did she continue: "It's only that…I saw Mary at the hospital, outside Dr. Clarkson's office."

Her words stopped him in his tracks, as he now stood ineffectually in the middle of the sitting room.

"I…" he tried to respond, his mind feverishly examining then dismissing a dozen implausible scenarios including the very most implausible of all. Vainly, he tried to banish the thought, but it seemed possessed of an equally strong will and stubbornly planted itself in his head.

His mother stared at him, clearly expecting a more suitable answer. "I take it you were unaware of her visit?" she wondered, a note of hesitation amidst her confusion.

"…Yes— er…no, I…I didn't know…"

Somehow, he managed to finally locate a chair and sit down. It couldn't be, it was ridiculous, not after all this time…

"Perhaps she finally thought it best to seek the advice of a professional instead of her grandmother – who as far as I'm aware, has not received medical training." His mother crisply folded her hands in her lap, as if to emphasize her point.

He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that, and it made so much more sense than whatever madness was in his mind. Though Mary had seemed so obstinate about it before – but he'd not pressed her further since that day in London…

Shaking his head of that thought, he managed to offer a slight rebuke. "Really, Mother – there was no harm done. It was only tea…" Though the second teapot had been missing from their tea service for months now, it seemed silly to dwell on such a trivial thing. "I'm…quite certain she's fine."

The surety in his voice was a marked contrast to his internal torment. He had to think he would've known if something was actually _wrong_— if she wasn't simply seeking Clarkson's advice about…their situation, or if their situation had…changed…

Fortunately, he did not have to wonder long – rising to his feet as he heard the door being opened once more, and his wife's voice in the corridor.

"Mary?" he called, wanting to see her – thinking if something was…different, he could read it in her face or hear it in her voice or that it'd be reflected in the manner in which she carried herself…

She smiled when she saw him, but offered no further hints. "Matthew…" Her voice was softer now, and suddenly his mouth felt dry. "Oh – hello, Isobel," she greeted, as she entered the sitting room. "Good, you're both here…"

Matthew's pulse jumped in spite of himself, but he covered it with a slight cough and clearing of his throat.

"Well, I can…give you two a moment, if you'd like." His mother spoke in rushed, almost strident tones laced with the same anxiety he was unable to contain.

"No, that's quite alright – since this does affect the entire household…" Mary was looking around the room, but did not look at either of them.

He could almost feeling the blood rushing from his head in the silence that followed…

Mary glanced from himself to his mother, her smile broadening to a grin. "The truth is, I've had some wonderful news…about our Mrs. Bates."

Matthew let out a breath, as his wife stepped aside to reveal the beaming countenance of her ladies' maid. He recognized that expression, and of course knew the words that were coming next.

"She'll be leaving us…to be a mother in under six months." Mrs. Bates now broke into a grin, clearly barely able to contain her joy as Mary continued. "Dr. Clarkson just confirmed it."

His mother seemed first to recover. "Well, congratulations! That's…excellent news."

"Thank you, Ma'am." Smiling, Mrs. Bates now turned to Mary. "Lady Mary has been so kind…"

"Well, you shall be missed terribly, but I suppose we can hardly argue with the reason," Mary remarked, brightly.

Matthew remained silent, still trying to process exactly what had just transpired. At the moment, he could only nod to Mrs. Bates, who was now speaking with his mother.

Mary stepped aside, drawing him into the corner of the room. "I wanted to tell you, but…she took me into her confidence," she explained, with a self-deprecating smile.

"She's…rather lucky to have you looking after her…"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Mary replied, lightly. "She's been teaching me how to…manage more on my own. I don't think I'll have need for a ladies' maid once she's gone – it's quite a luxury anyway and–"

All at once she stopped, and turned towards him with a look of concern. "You're pleased for her…aren't you, darling?"

It was a question he'd been pondering ever since he'd heard Mrs. Bates' news. Why he hadn't felt that familiar crushing sadness and despairing jealousy that had accompanied learning of both Edith and Sybil…

Then he realized the answer was in Mary's eyes, which were sparkling with emotion and genuine delight. Of course, he knew exactly why this time was different.

Smiling, his hand lightly stroked her elbow, watching his mother and Mrs. Bates delightedly chatting about things he and Mary would never understand. He felt his wife gently lean into him, as they stood together, side by side.

"I am if you are," he answered, honestly – and this time, he actually believed it.

* * *

><p>The next several months seemed to keep them both inordinately busy. An increased caseload kept him later at his job, while she seemed to understandably spend all her time with Mrs. Bates – learning how to manage the varied responsibilities of a ladies' maid.<p>

But no matter how hectic their days, he and Mary always ended them in each other's arms. In a way, it felt as if they were beginning their marriage anew…he was occupied with his job, while she and Mrs. Bates were pursuing a project.

Indeed, nothing much had really changed in over two years.

However, the same could not be said for everyone in their family – as one evening at dinner, Mary announced she'd received another letter from Sybil.

"She writes she'll be coming to Downton with Finn for at least several months," Mary stated. "Well, Mama must be thrilled she won't have to hear of her granddaughter's birth by telegram."

"Her granddaughter?" Isobel repeated, seeming puzzled. "Your sister may think that, but there's no way to know for certain."

Matthew ignored his mother's comment, gazing instead at his wife. "All the better for her to become accustomed to life here," he commented, surreptitiously brushing her fingers with his own as he reached for his wine glass.

His wife gave him a warm, secretive smile – both secure in the belief that her succession scheme would now be safe.

There was to be a luncheon at the big house the day after Sybil arrived, and on that morning, he thought Mary would surely be anxious to get ready. However, it was quite the opposite. His wife seemed remarkably uninterested in leaving the bed – distracting him most pleasantly from going downstairs to breakfast.

"Darling…" he managed, as she now lay curled beside him. "What about…the luncheon…"

Her mouth was at the base of his neck…moving across his shoulders, and he could feel her smile against his skin. "Well, we missed breakfast…we'll just…ring for a tray…"

"A…tray?" His brow furrowed momentarily at her words, but they were almost forgotten as her hair swept across his chest. He clung to the last shred of control he could muster, tipping up her chin to look properly at her. That seemed to cause her eyes to go out of focus a moment, before she dipped her head and resumed her attentions.

His fingers tightened their grip on her back – unsure whether he was pulling her closer or pushing her away. "But…don't…don't you want to see Sybil…"

Now her head rose from his chest – blinking rapidly, as if she'd just been roused from some kind of waking dream. "Sybil?" she repeated, shaking her head. All at once, her eyes seemed to grow impossibly larger as she exclaimed, "Oh Lord, that's _today_!"

She then slumped back against the pillows, placing a hand to her temple - as if she was scolding herself for her oversight.

He pulled on his dressing gown, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Giving her one last glance before he went to get dressed himself, he saw her face was still in her hands.

Not surprisingly, he was ready before his wife. As he waited for her, standing outside the partially opened door of their room, he heard Mrs. Bates remarking, "Well, it certainly doesn't look that way…"

When she saw Matthew, she quickly glanced back into the room before smiling pleasantly. "She's just finishing up, Mr. Crawley," she informed him, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

Mary had now made her way to the door, leaning slightly against it. Resplendent in that dress he loved (the one that had almost gone with her to Ireland), she immediately claimed his arm before he even had the chance to offer it to her.

"I take it you approve?" she asked almost shyly.

A gentle kiss on the cheek was her simple answer. "Well, I don't think it suited your trunk nearly as well…"

Mary pursed her lips in a teasing smirk, as they descended the stairs. "Indeed. Besides, Sybil was the one who was meant to be in Ireland…" Her eyebrows raised daringly at her implication, before continuing. "So, I suppose things have a way of sorting themselves out…"

"Quite right, my dear," he agreed, eschewing Moseley's offer of assistance as they reached the doorway. Matthew helped his wife on with her coat and they headed out the open door to the car where his mother was waiting.

* * *

><p>Standing in the library, his hand curled over the back of Mary's chair, Matthew wasn't sure when he'd ever felt quite so outnumbered.<p>

Apparently, Robert was out on some estate-related matter, and Edith's husband had sent her and Herbert on ahead. This left Matthew, Herbert and Finn to represent the "men" amongst his mother and the rest of Mary's family, including the Dowager Countess.

"Mary, your grandmother wants to know whether you'd like some tea." Cora had come over to Mary, who was seated slightly away from everyone else, her chin propped up on her hand.

His wife seemed momentarily confused. "I'm quite certain I said–"

"Pay bock!" There was a tug on Matthew's trouser leg, and he glanced down to see Finn smiling up at him.

"No, Finn – it's not time to play with blocks." Sybil seemed to materialize beside them, admonishing her son. Under the watchful, judgmental gaze of her family, she leaned over to address him more directly: "What did Mama tell you about being a bother when adults are speaking?"

"Pay bock!" Undeterred by Sybil's warning, Finn clutched at Matthew's legs with a more persistent grip.

"Finn!" Sybil was insistent now, moving instinctively away from the group. Matthew moved with her - somewhat grateful to leave the ladies to their conversation. Her eyes were a mixture of tired and dazed, as she apologized. "I'm so sorry, Matthew – he's not usually like this. His Papa always plays blocks with him, and…"

Naming her absent husband seemed to draw her thoughts momentarily away, and Matthew merely smiled in sympathy for the boy. If anyone in this room knew about missing his father…

"I'll play with him, Sybil. That is…" He addressed Finn, man to man, looking very serious indeed, "if you find me an acceptable substitute."

Finn merely blinked, hurrying over to the pile of wooden blocks in front of one of the red sofas. Clearly Matthew's participation was not required for playtime to begin.

His eyes quickly traveled back to Mary. She was speaking to Edith, and her sister appeared to be offering up the baby for his wife to hold…

"Bocks!" his tiny taskmaster cried, and Matthew turned to see Finn standing by the blocks, clearly wondering about the delay.

Matthew moved to sit on the sofa across from where Finn was now busy constructing….something. "Now what exactly are you building? Can I help?" As he tried to assist Finn by stacking the blocks, he became vaguely aware that Mary was walking past them.

It sounded as if she was settling into the chair just behind the sofa. At the same time, he decided to simply abandon propriety, and knelt down as discretely as he could beside the boy.

"Well…hello…" Mary's soft voice wafted from the chair, where she'd clearly taken the baby – away from all the chatter and fuss. "I know it's a bit silly – talking to someone who can't talk back. Though…I suppose you might do soon enough. You'll certainly have learned how from your Mama…"

He smiled at the subtle irritation in his wife's tone, and wondered if she and Edith would ever truly be able to get on as adults.

"So, we must hope you'll favor your Papa's temperment…" He heard her pause a moment, then take a breath. "You know you're quite lucky...to be surrounded by people who…" Another pause, "…who love you. I know you can't understand what that means yet, but it is…so very important."

"'Appy you?" Finn asked, suddenly turning to Matthew.

Matthew had no idea what the child was asking, but figured remaining silent was not an option. "Er…yes, I think so," he stammered.

"You know when your Mama and Papa were first married, they had to clear out a room for you," Mary continued, conversationally. "They didn't know it yet, but…it was your room. And it was always meant to be—"

"'Appy?" came a small voice, followed by rapid footsteps, and what sounded like blocks dropping onto the rug. Matthew had lost track of the boy for a minute, and apparently Finn had disappeared behind the sofa.

"Finn!" he whispered loudly, scrambling around the furniture almost on his knees. It was not exactly the easiest way to chase after the boy, but he was desperately trying to keep the disturbance down to a minimum.

"Oh, Mary – there you are!" He heard Edith's voice, as he continued his useless pursuit of Finn, who seemed mere seconds away from reaching Mary and startling the baby—

"Why did you wander off like that?" Edith asked, now sounding slightly perplexed. "Didn't you want to hold Herbert?"

It was as if his muscles ceased functioning. Skidding to a stop, he rocked back on his heels in the middle of the library.

Breathlessly, he watched the scene play out as if observing it from somewhere outside himself: Mary lifting her head, her hands rising from their position across her middle to take Edith's son in her arms, Finn now placing blocks on Mary's previously empty lap…empty, only…

He met her eyes across that room, heavy and unblinking, his mouth slightly open – not daring to speak. His ability to form thoughts or speech was lost; his feelings could neither be expressed nor contained... It was an indescribable sensation – like his chest was expanding at an increasingly rapid rate, yet…he couldn't breathe or breathed too much or forgot how…

For a few moments, everything else around him seemed to stop and fade as she held his gaze, pressed her lips together in a small, trembling smile…

…and nodded.

Some small, strangled sound between a laugh and a sob escaped his throat as he watched her with the baby. His wife…glancing down with such tender hesitation before her shining eyes found his once more. All at once, she seemed positively glowing – as if her heart was illuminating her from within.

"'Appy you 'appy!" Finn was demanding loudly. Suddenly, Matthew understood the child – as if somehow, this new knowledge had granted some deeper insight. But he couldn't exactly answer the boy believably with shaking hands and watery eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edith – who had clearly been alerted by Finn's raised voice – collecting her own son from Mary.

His wife then headed towards them, leaning down to address her nephew. "That is a very good question, Finn." Her voice communicated a gentle authority. "Perhaps we should ask Uncle Matthew once more…" She was remarkably composed as she turned to him and softly asked, "Are you happy?"

He couldn't help but smile, though managing to remain somewhat restrained in front of the child. "I am, Finn…because I'm smiling, you see. Do you see how Aunt Mary is smiling? That means…" All of a sudden, he had to catch his breath. "It means…she is also happy."

"Matthew? Mary?" At the sound of Sybil's voice, Finn broke into a run – his aunt and uncle very much forgotten. "I think everyone's arrived, so…we're going to go in now."

"Excellent." Mary replied, serenely.

Sybil's attention then turned to her son, who'd buried himself in his Mama's skirts. "Thank you for looking after this one…I do hope he wasn't a bother."

"Not at all," Matthew replied, now standing beside Mary."…Happy to do it," he added, with a brief glance at his wife.

They waited until the rest of the family had gone and the room was empty. Only then did he lean in and find her mouth through that haze of joy – the slightest, briefest touch of quivering lips to each other.

When he pulled back, her eyes were shining as his were and suddenly offering her his arm, even just to escort her to luncheon, had become an infinitely greater responsibility.

Every step seemed a monumental effort, and his legs felt as unsteady as they had in that same library a lifetime ago. He'd thought of the promise of a _life_ that had certainly been fulfilled, even before today. He had a happy life. This simply…compounded its happiness.

"It will be nice to have all the family together again," she remarked, as they strolled leisurely through the hall.

He glanced at her, and the flush in her cheeks betrayed her calm words. "Quite so," Adopting an expression of equally false composure, his lips twitched slightly. "I'm sure they've some sort of exciting news to share."

She met his teasing gaze with one of her own, and at that moment, he hoped such a look could be inherited. "I'm quite certain they do…"

He leaned a little more closely to her, and she gripped his arm a little tighter as he contemplated interrupting another Crawley family meal.

No…Mary should be the one to speak for them – for all three of them. She would be the one to tell the family…

…And he would be the one to move the books.

The End.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Special thanks to OrangeShipper for her enthusiasm and encouragement._

_Finally, many grateful thanks for all your support! It has meant so much to me, and I honestly could not have completed this story without all your feedback!_

_Here's to Mary becoming pregnant almost immediately in S3…_


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